CIHM 
Microfiche 
Series 
(iVIonographs) 


ICIVIH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographies) 


Canadian  Inatituta  for  Hiatorical  Mlcroraproductiona  /  Inatitut  Canadian  da  microraproduetiona  hiatoriquaa 


1995 


T«:hnica(  and  Bibliographic  Nans  /  Horn  tactiniquas  at  bibliographiquas 


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I       I  Coloured  maps/ 

D 
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n 
n 


n 


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ax 


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HI 

2DX 


»X 


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Th*  copy  fllmad  har*  hu  bean  raproduead  thanks 
to  tha  s*narosirv  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'axamplaira  filmt  fut  raproduit  grica  i  la 
S*n*rosit*  da: 

Bibliotheque  nationale  du  Canada 


Tha  imagai  appaaring  t.ara  ara  tha  baat  quality 
potsibla  considaring  tha  condition  and  lagibiiity 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  tpacificationa. 


Original  eopioi  In  printad  papar  covara  ara  fllmad 
baginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratod  impraa- 
tion,  or  tha  back  covar  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  original  cotiiaa  ara  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
firat  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  Impraa- 
sion.  and  anding  on  tha  laat  paga  vvith  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  imprasaion. 


Tha  laat  racordad  frama  on  aach  microfieha 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  -^  (moaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  symbol  ▼  Imaaning  "END"), 
whichavar  applias. 

Maps,  platas.  charts,  ate.  may  ba  filmad  at 
diffarant  raduction  ratios.  Thosa  too  larga  to  ba 
antiraly  included  in  ona  axposura  ara  filmad 
baginning  in  tha  uppar  laft  hand  cornar.  laft  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  framas  aa 
raquirad.  Tha  following  diagrama  llluatrata  tha 
mathod: 


Las  imagas  suivantas  ont  txi  raproduitas  avac  la 
plus  grand  soin.  eompta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  naitatt  da  l'axamplaira  film*,  at  an 
conformit*  avac  las  conditions  du  contrat  da 
filmaga. 

Laa  axamplaira*  originaux  dont  la  couvartura  an 
papiar  ast  imprimta  sont  fiimis  »n  commancant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  »n  tarminant  soil  par  la 
darnitra  paga  qui  compona  una  amprainta 
d'imprassion  ou  d'iltustration.  soit  par  la  stcond 
plat,  salon  la  cas.  Tous  las  autras  axamplairas 
originaux  sont  filmta  an  commancant  par  la 
pramitra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'imprassion  ou  d'illustration  at  tn  tarminant  par 
la  darnitra  paga  qui  comporta  una  talla 
amprainta. 

Un  das  symbolaa  sulvants  tpparaitra  sur  la 
darnitra  imaga  da  chaqua  microfieha.  salon  la 
caa:  la  symbols  — ^  signifia  "A  SUIVRE".  la 
symbols  ▼  signifia  "FIN". 

Laa  cartaa.  planchas,  tablaaux.  ate.  peuvant  itte 
filmts  i  das  taux  da  reduction  diff*rants. 
Loraqua  la  documant  aat  trop  grand  pour  itra 
raproduit  an  un  saul  clichi.  il  ast  film*  1  partir 
da  I'angla  suptriaur  gaucha.  da  gaucha  t  droita, 
at  da  haul  an  baa,  an  pranant  la  nombra 
d'imagaa  n*cassaira.  Laa  diagrammas  suivants 
illustrant  la  mtthoda. 


1  2  3 


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3 

4 

5 

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(ANSI  and  ISO     "ST  CHART  No.  2) 


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THE   THREAD   OF    FLAME 


Books  BT 
BASIL   KING 

THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

GOING  WEST 

THE  CITY  OF  COMKADES 

ABRAHAM'S  BOSOM 

THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

tat  SIDE  OF  THE  ANQEU 

THE  LETTER  OP  THE  CONTRACT 

THE  WAV  HOME 

THE  WILD  OUVE 

THE  INNER  SHRINE 

THE  STREET  CALLED  STRAIGHT 

LET  NO  MAN  PUl  ASUNDER 

IN  THE  GARDEN  OP  CHARITY 

THE  STEPS  or  HONOR 

THE  HIGH  HEART 


HAKFEB  *  BROTHERS.  NEW  YORK 
EluauiUB  1817 


"r\h,    as   for   cheering   people   up — I    don't    know  ...  A 

v_/  woman  wants  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world 

to  feel  that  she's  needed;  and  when  she  discovers  she  isn't — " 


THE 
THREAD   OF   FLAME 

By  BASIL  KING 

"iw  ctiT  or  comADxs"  "goimo  wm'* 

"TBS  nnnK  ratoiB"  xtc  ^' 

IlHstratti 


Harper   6lf  Brothers 

Publisheri 
New   York    and    London 


1  '-  1^1 '< 


2!iB0i7 


The  Thsbad  op  flau 

Copmghl.  io,o,  by  Harcr  ft  Brotken 

Printed  in  the  United  Sutea  of  AnSS 

Publiillcd  AujMt.  1930 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Oh.  as  for  cheering  people  uf^l  don't  know 

■  .  .A  woman  wants  more  than  anythine 

else  m  the  world  to  feel  that  she's  needed 
and  when  she  discovers  she  isn't—" 

She  tumed  on  me  with  a  new  flash  in  her  blue 
eyes.  "Ix^khere!  Tell  me  honest,  now. 
Are  you  a  swell  crook-^r  ain't  you'" 
Suppose  I  say  that-that  I  ain't."  "Say, 
fad  I  she  responded,  coldly,  "talk  like 
yourself,  will  you.'...  If  ^j^,.„J\^ 

swell  crook  I  can't  make  you  out"  . 

All  these  minutes  she  had  been  observing  me. 

.'^^^^.''"^''^'^-'■.''''ed  cry  as  the  re: 
suit.     Uh.  Billy.  IS  this  you?"    . 

'  ''l!'d'^wr.°i""f  %"'' ""'''"  "'•-  vio' 

was  here  this  afternoon?" 


FrontiapiKt 


.    Facing  p.  120 


298 


THE   THREAD   OF   FLAME 


W 


CHAPTER  I 

[THOUT  opening  my  eyes  I  guessed  that 
it  must  be  between  five  and  six  in  the 
morning. 

I  was  snuggled  into  something  narrow.  On 
moving  my  knee  abruptly  it  came  into  contact 
with  an  upright  board.  At  the  same  time  the  end 
of  my  bed  rose  upward,  so  that  my  feet  were 
higher  than  my  head.  Then  the  other  end  rose, 
and  my  head  was  higher  than  my  feet.  A  slow, 
gentle  roll  threw  my  knee  once  more  against  the 
board,  though  another  slow,  gentle  roll  swung  me 
back  to  my  former  position.  Far  away  there  was 
a  rhythmic  throbbing,  like  the  beating  of  a  pulse. 
I  knew  I  was  on  shipboard,  and  for  the  moment 
It  was  all  I  knew. 

Not  quite  awake  and  not  quite  asleep,  I  waited 
as  one  waits  in  any  strange  bed,  in  any  strange 
place,  for  the  waking  mind  to  reconnect  itself  with 
the  happenings  overnight.  Sure  of  this  speedy 
re-estabhshment,  I  dozed  again. 

On  awaking  the  second  time  I  was  still  at  a  loss 
for  the  reason  for  my  being  at  sea.  I  had  left  a  port; 
3 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

I  was  going  to  a  port;  and  I  didn't  know  the  name 
of  either.  I  might  have  been  on  any  ocean,  sailing 
to  any  quarter  of  the  globe.  How  long  I  had  been 
on  the  way,  and  how  far  I  had  still  to  go,  were 
details  that  danced  away  from  me  whenever  I  tried 
to  seize  them.  I  retained  a  knowledge  of  conti- 
nents and  coimtries;  but  as  soon  as  I  made  the 
attempt  to  see  myself  in  any  of  them  my  mind 
recoiled  from  the  effort  with  a  kind  of  sick  dislike. 

Nothing  but  a  dull  hint  came  to  me  on  actually 
opening  my  eyes.  An  infiltration  of  gray  light 
through  the  door,  which  was  hooked  ajar,  revealed 
a  mere  slit  in  space,  with  every  peg  and  comer 
utilized.  A  quiet  breathing  from  the  berth  above 
my  head  told  me  that  I  shared  the  cabin  with 
some  one  else.  On  the  wall  opposite,  above  a  flat 
red  couch  ^iled  with  ^mall  articles  of  travel,  two 
complete  sets  of  clothing  swung  outward,  or  from 
side  to  side  like  pendulums,  according  to  the 
movement  of  the  ship. 

I  closed  my  eyes  again.  It  was  clearly  a  cabin 
of  the  cheaper  and  less  comfortable  order,  calling 
up  a  faintly  disagreeable  surprise.  It  was  from 
that  that  I  drew  my  inference.  I  Judged  that 
whoever  I  was  I  had  traveled  before,  and  in  more 
luxurious  conditions. 

Through  the  partly  open  door,  beyond  which 
there  must  have  been  an  open  porthole,  came 
puffs  of  salt  wind  and  the  swish  and  roar  of  the 
ocean.  Vainly  I  sought  indications  as  to  the  point 
of  the  compass  toward  which  we  were  headed. 
Imagination  adapted  itself  instantly  to  any  direc- 
4 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
tion  it  was  asked  to  take.    In  this  inside  cabin 


there  was 


from! 


'  suggestion  U„...  ,„.„.  I.IU 
the  diiference  between  east  and  west. 

Because  1  was  not  specially  alarmed  I  did  my 
best  to  doze  agam.  Dozing  seemed  to  me,  indeed, 
the  wisest  course,  for  the  reason  that  during  the 
Ireedom  of  subconsciousness  in  sleep  the  missins 
connection  was  the  more  likely  to  be  restored.  It 
would  be  restored  of  course.  I  was  physically 
well.  I  knew  that  by  my  general  sensations. 
Young,  vigorous,  and  with  plenty  of  money,  a 
mere  lapse  of  memory  was  a  joke. 

Of  being  young  and  vigorous  a  touch  on  my 
body  was  enough  to  give  me  the  assurance.  The 
assumption  of  having  plenty  of  monev  was  more 
subtle.  It  was  a  habit  of  mind  rather  than  any- 
thing more  convincing.  Certainly  there  was 
nothing  to  prove  it  in  this  cabin,  which  might 
easily  have  been  second-class,  nor  yet  in  the  stuff 
of  my  pajamas,  which  was  thick  and  coarse  I 
noticed  now,  as  1  turned  in  my  bunk,  that  it 
rasped  my  skin  unpleasantly.  With  no  effort  of 
the  memory  I  could  see  myself  elegantly  clad  in 
silk  mght-clothmg  fastened  with  silk  frogs;  and 
yet  when  I  asked  myself  when  and  where  that 
had  been  no  answer  was  accorded  me. 

I  may  have  slept  an  hour  when  I  waked  again 
!•  rom  the  sounds  in  the  cabin  I  drew  the  con- 
clusion that  my  overhead  companion  had  got  up. 
Before  looking  at  him  I  tested  my  memory  for 
some  such  recollection  as  men  sharing  the  same 
cabin  have  of  their  first  meeting.  But  I  had  none. 
5 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Farther  back  than  that  waking  between  five  and 
six  o|clock  I  couldn't  think.  It  was  like  trying 
to  think  back  to  the  years  preceding  one's  birth; 
one's  personality  dissolved  into  darkness. 

When  I  opened  my  eyes  there  was  a  man  stand- 
ing in  the  dim  gray  light  with  his  back  to  me. 
Broad,  muscular  shoulders  showed  through  the 
undershirt  which  was  all  he  wore  in  addition  to 
his  trousers,  of  which  the  braces  hung  down  the 
back.  The  dark  hair  was  the  hair  of  youth,  and 
in  a  comer  of  the  glass  I  caught  the  reflection  of 
a  chin  vhich  in  spite  of  the  lather  I  also  knew  to 
be  young.  Waiting  till  he  had  finis'aed  shaving 
and  had  splashed  his  face  in  the  basin,  I  said,  with 
a  questioning  intonation: 

"Hello?" 

Tummg  slowly,  he  lowered  the  towel  from  his 
dripping  face,  holding  it  out  like  a  propitiatory 
offiering.  He  responded  then  with  the  slow  ea*- 
phasis  of  surprise. 

"Hel-lo,  old  scout!  So  you've  waked  up  at 
last!   Thought  you  meant  to  sleep  the  trip  out." 

"Have  I  been  asleep  long?" 

"Only  since  you  came  on  aboard." 

It  was  on  my  tongue  to  ask.  When  was  that? 
but  a  sudden  prompting  of  discretion  bade  me 
seek  another  way. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  I've  slept  more  than — 
more  than" — I  drew  a  bow  at  a  venture — "more 
than  twenty-four  hours?" 

He  made  the  reckoning  as  he  rubbed  his  shin- 
ing face  with  the  towel. 
6 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"Let  me  see!  This  is  Friday.  We  came  on 
board  late  Tuesday  night.  When  John-M'rie, 
our  bedroom  steward,  brought  me  dow  i  to  the 
cabin  about  half  past  nine  you  were  already  in 
your  bunk  doing  the  opium  act.  John-M'rie 
passed  it  up  that  you  were  a  Frenchman,  because 
you'd  spoken  French  to  him;  but  now  I  see  you're 
just  an  American  like  myself." 

So!  I  was  an  American  but  I  could  speak 
French.  I  could  speak  French  sufficiently  well 
for  one  ''"renchman  to  mistake  me  for  another. 
I  stowed  this  data  away,  noting  that  if  I  had 
lost  some  of  the  power  of  memory  the  faculty 
of  reasoning  was  unimpaired. 

Weighing  my  questions  so  as  to  get  the  maxi- 
mum of  information  with  the  minimum  of  be- 
trayal, I  waited  before  hazarding  anything  else 
till  he  had  finished  polishing  a  face  which  had 
the  handsome  ugliness  of  a  pug. 

"When  do  you  think,"  was  my  next  diplo- 
marie  venture,  "that  we  shall  get  in?" 

"Oh,  hang!"  The  exclamation  was  caused 
by  finding  himself  pawing  at  the  foot  of  my  berth 
in  h  -.  search  for  the  towel-rack.  "Wednesday 
morning  with  good  luck,"  he  went  on,  feeling 
along  the  wall  till  he  touched  a  kind  of  rod,  behind 
which  he  tucked  the  towel.  "With  bad  weather 
we'll  not  pick  up  the  Nantucket  Lightship  before 
Thursday  night.  The  old  bucket's  supposed  to 
do  it  in  eight  days;  but  you  know  what  that 
means  these  times." 
I  didn't  ki.ow,  since  these  times  did  not  dis- 
7 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

tinguish  themselves  in  my  mind  from  any  other 
times.  But  the  Nantucket  Lightship  was  a  ref- 
erence I  understood.  We  were  sailing  for  New 
York.  As  an  American  I  was  therefore  on  my 
way  home,  though  no  spot  on  the  continent  put 
forth  a  special  claim  on  me.  I  made  brief  experi- 
ments m  various  directions:  New  York,  Wash- 
ington, Chicago,  San  Francisco,  Boston,  Denver, 
Seattle.  Nothing  responded.  The  hills  of  New 
England,  the  mountains  of  California,  the  levees 
of  Louisiana  were  alike  easy  for  me  to  recall;  but 
I  was  as  detached  from  them  as  a  spirit  from 
another  world. 

These  ideas  floated— I  choose  the  phrase  as 
expressive  of  something  more  nebulous  than 
active  thinking— these  ideas  floated  across  my 
brain  as  I  watched  the  boy  rinse  his  tooth-brush, 
replace  the  tumbler,  and  feel  along  the  wall  for 
the  flannel  shirt  hanging  on  a  peg.  He  turned  to 
me  then  with  the  twinkling,  doggy  look  I  was 
beginning  to  notice  as  a  trait. 

"Say,  you'd  eat  a  whale,  wouldn't  you? 
Haven  t  had  a  meal  since  Tuesday  night,  and 
now  It's  Friday.  Any  one  would  think  you  were 
up  in  the  Ypres  region  before  the  eats  got  on  to 
the  time-table.  Pretty  good  grub  on  board  this 
old  French  tub,  if  you  holler  loud  enough." 

While  he  went  on  to  suggest  a  menu  for  my 
breakfast  I  end  avored  to  deal  with  the  new  hints 
he  had  thrown  out.  He  had  spoken  of  Ypres. 
He  had  referred  to  short  rations.  I  remembered 
that  there  was  a  war.  Whether  it  was  over,  or 
8 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
had  been  and  perhaps  that  th'^'re  st  I  was  a  wa? 

ing  personal  to  myself  entered  Jntn  *U  ^^' 

to  it.  till  some  smaS'AkctK^^^"  in  "^**' 

Dni,kw„„|    I.n',  ,!,„  rt.  Ja„rf.„(    I 
9 


I 
I 

ill 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

can't  look  sidewise  at  anything  that  isn't  water 
before  the  other  guys  begin  to  kid  me  all  over 
the  lot.  Many  a  time  I  would  drink  water— and 
don  t  want  anything  but  water  to  drink— and 
1 11  be  hanged  if  I  don't  feel  ashamed  to  have 
them  see  me  doing  it— and  me  with  that  name! 
What  do  you  know  about  that?'' 

As  I  was  too  gravely  preoccupied  to  tell  him 
what  I  knew  about  that,  he  began  once  more  his 
cunous  pawing  along  the  wall,  till  he  seized  a 
cap  which  he  pulled  down  on  his  head. 

"Oh,  hang!"  he  muttered  then.  "That's 
yours." 

This,  too,  was  information,  enabling  me  to  as- 
sume that  the  clothing  which  hung  on  the  same 
hook  was  mme  also.  I  looked  at  it  with  some 
mterest,  but  also  with  a  renewed  feeling  of  dis- 
comfort. It  was  the  sort  of  suit  in  which  I  found 
It  difficult  to  see  myself.  Of  a  smooth  gray  twill, 
sleek  and  provincial,  there  was  that  about  it 
which  suggested  the  rural  beau. 

Having  momentarily  lost  his  orientation,  the 
boy  clawed  in  the  air  again,  touching  first  this 
object  and  then  that,  fingering  it,  considering  it, 
locating  It,  till  once  more  he  got  his  bearings. 
AH  this  he  did  with  a  slowness  and  caution  that 
forced  on  me  the  recognition  of  the  fact,  which  I 
might  have  perceived  before,  that  he  was  blind. 
Nothing  betrayed  it  but  his  motions.  The 
starry  eyes  were  apparently  uninjured.  Only, 
when  you  knew  his  infirmity,  you  noticed  that 
the  starriness  was  like  that  of  an  electric  lamp, 

10 


I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

su„set.^all  fro.  outside,  and  due  to  .oth."gt 
"Say,  there's  one  man  on  board  who'U  be  elad 

asTtheV"'  h-,.  though  that  2Sed  mt 
as  by  the  hope  of  getting  sidelights  on  myself 
,,Do  you  travel  with  a  doctor?"        ^ 

Came  over  with  him  just  before  the  war      T 
was  his  stenog.     NameofAverill      Be^nT'.ni 

TsSleT  TelfT  ^"Vr'-^r-  '''^' -"  sine 

my  b  eakfasT    ff  '"  '*''°"*  ''r  "'"^^  ^'^^  had 
my  oreaktast.     Off  now  to  send  in  John-M'rie 


CHAPTER  II 


BEFORE  getting  up  to  make  the  invest*.' 
gations  on  which  I  was  so  keen  I  waited  to 
be  rid  of  Jean-Marie.  He  came  in  presently — 
small,  black,  wiry,  not  particularly  clean,  and  with 
an  oily  smell,  but  full  of  an  ingratiating  kindness. 
When  I  had  trumped  up  an  explanation  of  my 
abnormally  long  sleep  I  set  him  to  separating  my 
hand-luggage  from  my  cabin-mate's,  nominally 
for  the  sake  of  convenience,  but  really  that  I 
might  know  which  was  mine. 

The  minute  he  had  left  with  my  order  for 
breakfast  I  sprang  from  my  bunk.  I  searched 
first  the  pockets  of  my  clothes.  There  was  noth- 
ing in  them  but  a  handkerchief,  a  few  French 
coins,  and  a  card  giving  the  number  of  a  cabin, 
the  number  of  a  seat  at  a  table  in  the  dining- 
saloon,  and  the  name  of  Mr.  Jasper  Soames. 
It  was  a  name  that  to  me  meant  nothing.  Refer- 
ring it  to  my  inner  self,  nothing  vibrated,  noth- 
ing rang.  It  was  like  crying  to  clink  a  piece  of 
money  on  wool  or  cork  or  some  other  unrespon- 
sive material. 

My  clothing  itself  was  what  I  had  guessed 
from  the  inspection  made  from  my  berth.     It 

12 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

suggested  having  been  bought  ready  to  wear, 
a  suggestion  borne  out  by  the  label  of  what  was 
ulrchf^T  *"*  tP='«'"«nt  store,  the  Bon 
Marche,  at  Tours  My  cap  had  the  same  label, 
and  my  hard  felt  hat  no  maker's  name  at  all 

I  began  on  the  bags  which  Jean-Marie  had 
segregated  as  my  property.  There  were  two,  a 
hand-bat;  '"d  a  su.t-case,  neither  of  them  tagged 

brushes^handkerchiefs,  all  of  the  cheaper  varf^ 
ties.  Where  there  was  anything  to  indicate  the 
place  at  which  they  had  been  purchased  it  was 
always  the  Bon  Marche  at  Tours 

I  oZ^A  f"""""!','  ^^t^  '"''  unlocked,  and  which 

Ifl^?  '^"  ''/"«!,"« *?"  '^^  ^'^^'  ^  «"le  linen. 
liZ  ii"^*'  °f  underclothing,  a  small  supply  of 
socks,  collars,  and  other  such  necessities,  all  more 
or  less  new,  some  of  them  still  unworn,  but  with 
not  so  much  as  an  initial  to  give  a  c  ue  to  the 

tirwVh^%"T'^  "!r='"''  ^  "="1^  '^-  ^bserla! 
uon  with  a  fnghtened  inward  laugh-that  a  ma., 
running  away  from  detection  for  a  crime  would 
nt  himself  out  in  just  this  way 

Having  repacked  the  bags,  I  stood  at  a  loss,  in 
the  sense  that  for  the  first  time  I  felt  stunned 

thnn^TTTK'^'\P™'"'''"«  ^°  ^^  "-"^e  ''eric  IS 
than  I  had  thought  it  possible  for  it  to  become 
Ihere  were  so  many  things  to  think  of  that  I 
couldn  t  see  them  all  before  me  at  a  glance 

Standing   m  the  middle  of  the  narrow  floor, 
steadying  myself  by  a  hand  on  the  edge  of  Drink! 
'3 


II   ! 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

y.ater's  bunk,  I  suddenly  caught  my  reflection 
in  the  glass.  It  was  a  new  line  to  follow  up. 
A  look  into  my  own  eyes  would  reforge  those 
hnks  with  myself  that  had  trembled  away.  I 
went  closer,  staring  at  the  man  who  now  con- 
ironted  me. 

It  is  an  odd  experience  to  gaze  at  yourself  and 
see  a  stranger;  but  that  is  what  happened  to  me 
now     The  face  that  gazed  back  at  me  was  one 
which   as  far  as  I  could  tell,  I  had  never  seen  in 
my  Me     I  had  seen  faces  like  it,  hundreds  of 
them,  but  neve,  precisely  this  face.     It  was  the 
typical  face  of  the  brown-eyed,   brown-haired 
Anglo-Saxon,  lean,  leathery,   and  tanned;    but 
tt,?n"T  "°,'?°;;^«=°""ect  it  with  my  intimate  self 
than  I  could  Drinkwater's  face,  or  Jean-Marie's. 
It  was  that  of  a  man  who  might  have  been 
thirty-two,   but  who  possibly  looked  older     I 
mean  by  that  that  there  was  a  haggardness  in 
It  which  seemed  to  come  of  experience  rather  than 
trom  time.     Had   you  passed  this  face  in  the 
street  you  would  have  said  that  it  was  that  of 
a  tall,  good-looking  young  fellow  with  a  brown 
mustache,  but  you  would  have  added  that  the 
eyes  had  the  queer,  far-away  luminosity  of  eyes 
that  have  "seen  things."    They  would  have  re- 
minded you  of  Dnnkwater's  eyes-not  that  they 
were  like  them,  but  only  because  of  their  fixed 
the^E"    ''""^'''  that  have  passed  away  from 
My  next  thought  was  of  money.     So  far  I 
had  found  nothing  but  the  few  odd  coins  in  mv 
H 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

l^iTJ  ""**  *•"*  r''*''  P'"="'y  °f  "  somewhere  I 
took  as  a  matter  of  course.  I  know  now  by  ex- 
perience that  people  in  the  habit  of  having  money 

led  by  d^erent  'senses."  In  the  one  case  it  is 
a  sense  of  hmitation;  in  the  other  of  liberty.    It 

a  bind       '''^"rt  •'^*"^^"  '^'  -"V"  o 
a  blind  man  and  those  of  one  who  can  see-a 

tactful  feehng  of  ever,  step  in  contrast  with^e 

duced  h"*"'  '"'*  ^°-    i^  =»"  '^'  detractions  in! 
duced  by  poverty  and  wealth  it  is  one  that 
appeab    to   me   now  as   the   most   signfficant 
Merely  to  do  without  things,  or  merely  tf  possess' 
things.  IS  matter  of  little  importance     A  ma  / 

which  h?^"'  "°*  i"  '^'  '•'""''^"'^^  °f  ^l'-  ^h'^g 
which  he  possesseth.  we  are  told  on  high  author- 
ity; but  It  does  consist  in  his  state  of  mind.  To 
be  always  m  a  state  of  mfnd  in  which  restriction 
IS  instmctiye  is  like  always  creeping  as  a  baby 
and  never  learning  to  walk.  *^  ^  ""  ^  °^^} 
But  as  far  as  money  went  I  was  free.  I  had 
never  been  without  it.  I  had  no  conception  of 
a  life  m  which  I  couldn't  spend  as  much  as  I 

probably  had  a  letter  of  credit  somewhere,  if  I 
could  only  put  my  hand  on  it.  On  arrivii^g  i„ 
New  York  I  should  of  course  have  access  to^my 
bank-account.  ■' 

It  occurred  to  me  to  look  under  my  pillow,  and 
there,  sure  enough,  was  a  little  leather  purse 
J.fh  '\Tu  '=°"""°" '"tie  purse  was  secondary 
to  the  fact  that  it  was  filled.     Sitting  on  the  ed^ 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

of  the  couch,  I  opened  it  with  fingers  that  shook 
with  my  excitement.  It  contained  three  five- 
hundred-franc  notes,  two  for  a  hundred,  some 
hundred  and  fifty  in  gold,  and  a  little  silver, 
nearly  four  hundred  dollars  in  all.  I  seemed 
to  know  that  roughly  it  was  the  kind  of  sum  I 
generally  carried  on  my  person  when  abroad. 

After  a  hasty  scrubbing  up  I  crept  back  into 
bed,  and  wdted  for  Jean-Marie  to  bring  my 
breakfast. 

It  was  my  first  thoi-ght  that  I  must  not  let  him 
see  that  anything  was  wrong.  I  must  let  no  one 
see  that.  The  reason  1  had  given  him  for  my 
extraordinary  sleep,  that  of  having  long  suffered 
from  insomnia  and  being  relieved  by  the  sea  air, 
would  have  to  pass,  too,  with  Drinkwater's  friend 
the  doctor,  should  he  come  to  see  me.  No  one, 
no  one,  must  suspect  that  for  so  much  as  an  hour 
the  sense  of  my  identity  had  escaped  me.  The 
shame  I  felt  at  that— a  shame  I  have  since  learned 
to  be  common  to  most  victims  of  the  same  mis- 
hap—was overwhelming.  Rather  than  confess 
it  I  could  own  to  nearly  anything  in  the  nature 
of  a  crime. 

But  it  was  no  one's  business  but  my  own.  I 
comforted  myself  with  that  reflection  amid  much 
that  I  found  disturbing. 

What  I  chiefly  found  disturbing  was  my  gen- 
eral environment.  I  couldn't  understand  this 
narrow  cabin,  these  provincial  foreign  clothes. 
While  I  was  sorry  for  Drinkwater's  blindness,  I 
disliked  the  closeness  of  contact  with  one  I  re- 
i6 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

garded  as  my  inferior.  I  am  not  saying  that  I 
took  this  situation  seriously.  I  knew  I  could 
extncate  myself  from  it  on  arriving  in  New  York 
The  element  in  it  that  troubled  me  was  my  in- 
abihty  to  account  for  it.  What  had  I  been  doing 
that  I  should  find  myself  in  conditions  so  dis- 
tasteful.? Why  should  I  have  wanted  to  oMiter- 
ate  my  traces?  It  was  obvious  that  I  had  done 
It,  and  that  I  had  done  it  with  deliberation.  Be- 
Ni^*"  °^/"  the  world.  I  had  made  myself 
Nobody,  and  for  that  I  must  have  had  a  motive. 

«  tV,Vk'"°"''V''"u^°."'''  '°"f^°«  ">«  »''  soon 
as  1  had  become  Somebody  again  f    That  I  should 

have  lost  the  sense  of  my  identity  was  bad  enough 
m  Itself;  but  that  I  should  reappear  in  a  role 
that  was  not  my  own,  and  with  a  name  I  was 
sure  1  had  never  borne,  was  at  once  terrifying 
and  grotesque.  * 

3 


CHAPTER  III 

IT  occurred  to  me  that  I  could  escape  some  of 
my  embarrassment  by  asking  Drinkwater  to 
stop  his  friend  the  doctor  from  looking  in  on  me; 
but  before  I  had  time  to  formulate  this  plan,  and 
while  I  was  sitting  up  crosslegged  in  my  berth, 
eatmg  from  the  tray  which  Jean-Marie  had  laid 
on  my  knees,  there  was  a  sharp  rap  on  the  door. 
As  I  could  do  nothing  but  say,  "Come  in,"  the 
doctor  was  before  me. 

"Good!"  he  said,  quietly,  without  greeting 
or  self-introduction.  "Best  thing  you  could  be 
doing." 

The  lack  of  formality  nettled  me.  I  objected 
to  his  assumption  of  a  right  to  force  himself  in 
uninvited. 

I  said,  frigidly:  "I  shall  be  out  on  deck  pres- 
ently. If  you  want  to  see  me,  perhaps  it  would 
be  easier  there." 

"Oh,  this  is  all  right."  He  made  himself  com- 
fortable in  a  corner  of  the  couch,  propping  his 
body  against  the  rolling  of  the  ship  with  a  forti- 
fication of  bags.  "Glad  you're  able  to  get  up 
and  dress.     I'm  Doctor  Averill." 

To  give  him  to  understand  that  I  was  not  com- 
i8 


I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

municative  I  took  this  information  in  silence 
My  coldness  apparently  did  not  impress  him,  ani 

rSedteTt"  '^'••^"'"^  "'"-"-  -  --• 

ures  manners,  clothing,  were  mere  accidents. 
He  struck  you  as  being  wise,  though  with  a 
measure  of  sympathy  in  his  wisdom.  ^  Smali^ 
budd  the  dome  of  his  forehead  would  ha"  cov- 
ered a  man  of  twice  h.s  stature.  A  small,  dark 
mustache  was  no  more  consciously  a  po  nt  of 

to  a  rock.  When  he  took  off  his  cap  his  baldness 
though  more  extensive  than  you  would  have  exl 
fo,?v  fi  "  ""•"  who  couldn't  have  been  older  than 
forty-five,  was  the  finishing-touch  of  the  staid. 

"Yes""*  "^  ""  '°"^  "'"P-" 

"Making  up  for  lost  time?" 

"Exactly." 

"Been  at  the  front?" 

I  J„'er,rl'-fV"''.,°'".A.'l"""'°"  I  was  afraid  of. 
I  knew  that  .f  I  sa.d,  "Yes,"  I  should  have  to  give 
details,  and  so  I  said,  "No." 

"Look  as  if  you  had  been  " 
"Do  I?" 

'•Often  leaves  some  sort  of  hang-over—" 
was?tthe«y'°^''=*^'"'"^"-'l'—  I 

He  tried  another  avenue  of  approach.    "  Drink- 
water  told  me  you  were  a  Fi  .nchman." 
19 


Ir 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

nZ'd!"'^™  *°  •""'  '^-  »  ™"='k«  of  our 
•'But  you  speak  the  language." 
les,  I  speak  it. 

"Have  you  lived  much  in  France?" 
Oh,  on  and  off." 

"Had  a  position  over  there?" 

It  seemed  to  be  my  turn  to  ask  a  question  T 
shot  him  a  quick  jflance  "Wk  .  question.  1 
do  you  mean?"    ^  ^"  ""^  of  position 

"Oh,  I  didn't  know  but  what  you  might  have 
been  m  a  shop  or  an  office-"  ""««  "ave 

T  u  J  '?°'"'f  '•''«=  *•'«•'    It  was  a  surprise  to  m. 
I  had  thought  he  might  mention  thTEmbasTv 

Must  have  found  it  useful  to  speak  FrenrK 
so  well,  especially  at  a  time  like  this  »  '"'^ 

lit/!  ?j''^  T'  S°  '"^°  the  war  a  fellow 

hke  you  could  make  himself  handy  in  a  bt  of 

We  were  therefore  not  in  the  war.     I  was  dad 
to  add  that  to  my  list  of  facts.     "I  shouW  tfv  » 

tVrhLV^^''"^^''^-''^--'^--^-^^^^^ 

"Wonder  you  weren't  tempted  to  pitch  in  as 

20 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

ihl"? ■    ^  '"l  "'^T  ^°""«  Americans  did-chaps 
who  found  themselves  over  there." 
"I  wasn't  one  of  them." 

as  mr«2r"'^ u  "'•""T-''' ^'"^  °^"  ^^^  me 
as  my  stenographer  in  the  spring  of  that  year- 
and  when  the  thing  broke  out—" 

"He  went?" 

"Yes,  he  went." 

"nu^  ^'^"'t.get  much  good  from  it." 
"h,  I  don  t  know  about  that.     Depends— 
Sfows-""""  "''"  "^  "'^="'  ''y  «°<"1     You 

noijJ^'ii"!  T^^u"  ^^''."'="'  ''"*  I  ^°"'t  think  he 
Sta«r"  '  "'^^"^^  "  •'^•"«  «=•--'«  -th 
"  You  fellows—"  he  began  again. 

.^,  S'"l^  ?"l^  P'"""?  °""''^'=  t''«  ''°°'  warned 
us  that  Dnnkwater.  having  finished  his  break- 
fast, was  feeling  his  way  in. 

orTi'^.ff  T  '^T'^j  '''  ''■"  ^°y  P""''''!  the  door 
'«»/     .  """llhled  across  the  threshold. 

Lrl^r  If  "Ji  '"  Pt«ty  good  condition, 
wkh  "  H  '"■"^^"  ''"  "  ''^^"  '"=>'^i"g  =«w=«y 
r.;~,  "^/°  ''='^"'  ""«  the  cabin  had 

ri^.  «  r°"^''  ^°'  7°.  T"  °"  '■""t  at  the  same 
time.       See  you  on  deck  by  and  by,"  he  added 

I  waited  till  he  was  out  of  earshot.    "Who  is 
he,  anyhow?" 

21 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
In  giving  me  a  summary  of  Averill's  hi^r.^ 

tky  h,m  m  „m«t  m,h  Boyd  ASu^Th. 

those  odd  freak.!  of  LlT  ^    l^^;     ^y  °"e  of 
Franci.  r,  r  heredity  which  neither  Sir 

22 


THE  THREAD  OF     LAME 
S'sam*"  ''"  ^""ocratic,  and  Miss  Blair  says 

M^  Rr*^^  <f  nversation  I  asked  him  who  was 

}A        u"'  »^?"""S  '''='*  "•>«  ^3"  the  young 
lady  whom  Miss  Averill  had  brought  over  to 

whin  n  •\''"  ''^ stenographer  to  her  brother 
when  Dnnkwater  had  gone  to  the  war. 

You  see,"  he  continued  to  explain,  « Averill's 
been  white  with  me  from  the  start.  When  I  left 
h.m  m  the  lurch-after  he'd  paid  my  expenses 
over  to  Europe  and  all  that-because  the  war 
broke  out,  he  didn't  kick  any  more  than  a  straw 

this  war  couldn't  be  going  on  and  me  not  in  it. 

tare.     1 11  do  that  when  I've  got  to  work  in  New 
York  and  saved  a  bit  of  dough." 
I  asked  him  what  he  meant  to  work  at. 
Oh,  there  II  be  things.  There  always  are.  Miss 
Blair  wants  me  to  learn  the  touch  system  and  go 
Z!°\'^  stenography.     Says  she'll  teach  me. 
hay,  she  s  some  girl.    I  want  you  to  know  her." 
He  reverted  to  the  principal  theme.     "  Big  monev 
in  piano-tuning,  too,  though  what  I'm  really  out 
for  IS  biology      But  after  all  what's  biology  but 
the  science  of  hfe?-and  you  can  pick  t^t  up 
anywhere.     Oh    I'm  all  right.     I've   had   the 
darnedest  good  luck,  when  I've  seen  my  pals-" 
He  left  this  sentence  unfinished,  going  on  to  say: 

Rnt^'^Ql^n'  """^  '"'l"'  ^  8ot  mine  at  Bois 

Robert.    Shell    came    down-and,   gee   whizzf 

33 


1'^ 

i  j 

1 1 


»i 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Nothing  left  of  a  bunch  of  six  or  eight  of  us  but 
me — and  I  only  got  this." 

A  toss  of  his  hand  was  meant  to  indicate  his 
eyes,  after  which  he  went  on  to  tell  how  marvel- 
ously  he  had  been  taken  care  of,  with  the  addi- 
tional good  luck  of  running  across  Boyd  Averill 
m  hospital.  Best  luck  of  all  was,  now  that  he 
was  able  to  go  home,  the  Averills  were  coming, 
too,  and  had  been  willing  to  have  him  sail  by 
their  boat  and  keep  an  eye  on  him.  He  spoke 
as  if  they  were  his  intimate  friends,  while  I  had 
only  to  appear  on  deck  to  have  them  become 
mine. 

"In  the  jewelry  business?"  he  a  ked  me, 
suddenly. 

I  stared  in  an  amazement  of  which  he  must 
have  recognized  the  tones  in  my  voice.  "What 
made  you  ask  me  that?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Speak  like  it.  Thought 
you  might  have  been  in  that— or  gents'  fumish- 
mgs." 

After  he  had  gone  on  deck,  and  Jean-Marie 
had  taken  away  the  tray,  I  got  up  and  dressed. 
1  did  it  slowly,  with  a  hatred  to  my  clothes  that 
grew  as  I  put  them  on.  How  I  had  dressed  in 
the  previous  portion  of  my  life  I  couldn't,  of 
course,  tell;  but  now  I  was  something  between 
a  country  barber  and  a  cheap  Latin  Quarter 
Bohemian.  In  conjunction  with  my  patently 
Anglo-Saxon  face  nothing  could  have  been  more 
grotesque. 

I  thought  of  trunks.  I  must  have  some  in 
H 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

the  hold.  Ringing  for  Jean-Marie,  I  asked  if  it 
would  be  possible  to  have  one  or  two  of  them 
brought  up  If  so  I  could  go  back  to  bed  aga>" 
till  1  found  something  more  presentable.  The 
steward,  with  comic  compassion  stealing  into 
his  eye  as  he  studied  me,  said  that  of  course  it 
was  possible  to  have  monsieur's  trunks  brought  ud 
if  monsieur  would  give  him  the  checks  or  receipts, 
which  would  doubtless  be  in  monsieur's  pockets 
But  a  search  revealed  nothing.    The  bags  and" 

fact  that  I  had  come  on  board  without  other  be- 
longings than  those  on  the  couch  almost  betrayed 
me  to  the  little  man  watching  me  so  wistfully. 
I  was  obliged  to  invent  a  story  of  hurried  war-time 
traveling  m  order  to  get  him  out. 

My  predicament  was  growing  more  absurd. 
1  sat  down  on  the  couch  and  considered  it.  It 
would  have  been  easy  to  become  excited,  frantic, 
frenzied  with  my  ridiculous  inability.  Putting 
my  hands  to  my  head,  I  could  have  torn  it  asun- 

i"J:1  7T  ^'°'",?"^  atrophied  brain  the  secret 
It  guarded  so  mahciously.  "None  of  that  I"  I 
warned  myself;  and  my  hands  came  down. 
Whatever  I  did  I  must  do  coolly.  So  not  long 
the  deck  °°"  ^  '*"^''*  myself  to 

All  at  once  I  began  to  find  something  like  con- 
solation. The  wild  beauty  of  sky  and  water 
beat  m  on  me  like  love.  I  must  have  traveled 
often  enough  before,  so  that  it  was  not  new  to 
me.  but  it  was  all  the  mor«  comforting  for  that 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

I  had  come  back  to  an  old,  old  friendship-the 
fnendship  of  wind  and  color  and  scudding  clouds 
and  gUnting  honzons  and  the  mad  squadrons  of 
the  horses  of  Neptune  shaking  their  foamy 
manes.  Amid  the  raging  tempests  of  cloud 
there  were  tranquil  islands  of  a  blue  such  as  was 
never  unfolded  by  a  flower.  In  the  long,  sweep- 
ing  hollows  of  the  waves  one's  eye  could  catch 
all  the  hues  in  pigeons'  necks.  Before  a  billow 
broke  It  climbed  to  a  tip  of  that  sea-water  green 
more  inefl^able  than  any  of  the  greens  of  |rass, 
jades,  or  emeralds.     From  eveiy  crest,  and  in 

In?'".^    T  ^"'"  ^h  '^'P''  '^^''  "^  ^«  plowed 
along,  the  foam  trailed  into  shreds  that  seemed 

aett  and  exquisite  than  ours. 
_   Not  many  men  and  women  love  beauty  for 
Its  own  sake.     Not  many  see  it.    To  most  of  us 
It  is  only  an  adjunct  to  comfort  or  pride      It 
springs  from  the  purse,  or  at  best  from  the  in- 

care  for  it.  The  hidden  man  of  the  heart  has 
no  capacity  to  value  the  cloud  or  the  bit  of  jewel- 
weed.  Ihese  things  meet  no  need  in  him:  they 
inspire  no  ecstasy.  The  cloud  dissolves  aiid  the 
bit  of  jewel-weed  goes  back  to  earth;    and  the 

Ih^^^Af^  has  externalized  God  in  one  of 
the  mynad  forms  of  His  appeal  to  us.    Only  here 

H^.  tT  T  '°"8  "?*«'7?'?.  i«  there  one  to  whom 

Lne  and  color  and  mvisible  forces  like  the  wind 

are  significant  and  sacred,  and  as  essential  as  food 

26 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

fn"!!""'''  ^l"""'  *?  T  "°^  *''«•  somewhere 
lneZ_L\  '  l'''"'^  ''^'^  ''^"  *•>«  dominating 
ener©r-that  beauty  was  the  thread  of  flame 
which,  .f  I  kept  steadily  hold  of  it.  would  leTd 
me  back  whence  I  came. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FROM  the  spectacle  of  sea  and  sky  I  turned 
away  at  last,  only  because  my  senses  could 
take  in  no  more.  Then  I  saw  beauty  in  another 
form. 

A  prl  was  advancing  down  the  deck  who  em- 
bodied the  evanescence  of  the  cloud  and  the  grace 
of  the  bit  of  jewel-weed  in  a  way  I  could  never 
convey  to  ycu.    You  must  see  me  as  standing 
near  the  stem  of  the  boat,  and  the  long,  clean  line 
of  the  deck,  with  an  irregular  fringe  of  people 
m  deck-chairs,  as  empty  except  for  this  slender, 
solitary  figure.    The  rise  and  fall  of  the  ship  were 
a  little  hke  those  of  a  bough  in  the  wind,  while 
she  was  the  bird  on  it.    She  advanced  serenely, 
sedately,  her  hands  jaunrily  in  the  pockets  of  an 
ulster,  which  was  gray,  with  cuffs  and  collar  of 
sage-green.    A   sage-green    tam-o'-shanter  was 
fastened  to  a  mass  of  the  living  fair  hair  which, 
for  want  of  a  better  term,  we  call  golden.    Her 
av^reness  of  herself  almost   amounted  to  in- 
difference;  and  as  she  passed  under  the  row  of 
onlookers'  eyes  she  seemed  to  fling  out  a  chal- 
lenge which  was  not  defiant,  but  good-natured. 
Not  defiant  but  good-natured  was  the  gaze  she 
18 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

S«  as";*  w','  '•  ^r"'  •""'""S  in  self^onscious- 
l^LI  II  •"  ^^P'^t'^n-  A  child  might  have 
looked  at  you  in  this  way,  or  a  dog.  or  any  other 
being  not  afraid  of  you.    Of  a  blu^  which  could 

overhead,  her  eyes  never  wavered  in  their  lone 
calm  regard  till  they  were  turned  on  me  obi  3 

back  a^d?''  ^  l^'  '^}^  "°''  however.'K 
rn^nA  '" ^''"''""^  ^^^  *"''  "^ ^^e  promenade,  she 

Th1nkin/o?r'" ""''  r"*  "p  ^''^  °^''-  ^^-y 

rK^n  T  ^  {^"  "'"''^y  ^^  =>  v"wn  seen  by 
chance.  I  was  the  more  surprised  when  she  entered 
the  dming-saloon,  helping  my  friend  Drinkwater 
I  had  purposely  got  to  my  place  before  any  one 
else,  so  as  to  avoid  the  awkwardness  of  arri  W 
unknown  among  people  who  already  have^^df 
one  another's  acquaintance.    Moreover,  the  Table 

ner  alkwed  me  to  take  notes  on  all  who  came  in 
Not  that  I  was  mterested  in  my  fellow-passe^gers 

defcnT^K  ^r  "  ■  "'•"  °f  '^y  self-defense.  S 
defense,  the  keepmg  anyone  from  suspecting  the 
mischance  that  had  befallen  me.  seeme^to^me! 

Sg  outXr^s""  '"°"  """""^"^  ^''^  «"'»- 

AM^U^t"^'^  u'"^^'  ^=*^"g  already  become 
difficult,  those  who  entered  were  few  in  nuX 
and  as  pe  jple  are  always  at  their  worst  aTsea 

Among  the  first  to  pass  my  table  was  Boyd  Aver! 

.11  who  gave  me  a  friendly  nod.     After  him  came 

a  girl  of  perhaps  twenty-five,  grave,  sensible,  and 

29 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

so  mdifferent  to  appearances  that  I  put  her  down 
as  his  sister.  Last  of  all  was  she  whom  Drink- 
water  had  summed  up  as  "one  of  the  prettiest." 
She  was;  yet  not  in  the  way  in  which  the  vision 
on  the  deck  had  been  the  same.  The  vision  on 
the  deck  had  had  no  more  self-consciousness  than 
the  bit  of  jewel-weed.  This  richly  colored 
beauty,  with  eyes  so  long  and  almond-shaped 
that  they  were  almost  Mongohan,  was  self-con- 
scious m  the  grain— luxurious,  expensive,  and 
languorous. 

My  table  companions  began  to  gather,  turning 
my  attention  chiefly  on  myself.  I  had  traveled 
enough  to  know  the  chief  steward  as  a  discrimi- 
nating judge  of  human  nature.  Those  who  came 
asking  for  seats  at  table  he  sized  up  in  a  flash, 
associating  hke  with  like,  and  rarely  making  a 
mistake.  On  journeys  of  which  no  record  re- 
mained with  me  I  had  often  admired  this  classi- 
fying instinct,  doubtless  because  any  discrimi- 
nation It  may  have  contained  was  complimentary 
to  myself.  To-day  I  had  occasion  to  find  it 
otherwise. 

On  coming  on  board  I  must  have  followed  the 
routine  of  other  voyages.  Before  turning  into 
my  bunk  for  my  long  sleep  I  had  apparently 
asked  to  be  assigned  a  seat  at  table,  and  given 
the  name  of  Jasper  Soames.  Guided  by  his  in- 
tuitive social  flair,  the  chief  steward  had  adju- 
dicated me  to  a  side  table  in  a  comer,  where  to- 
day my  first  companion  was  a  lady's  maid.  The 
second  was  a  young  man  whom  I  had  no  difliculty 
30 


THE  THREAD  OF  Fi^AME 

Zt^^^V"  '■  •'"•"^f "■•'  ^f*«^  ^hom  Drink, 
water  and  the  vision  of  the  deck  cam.  l,"i 

ness  ,s  not  refused,  but  postS  ^"''"•^''■ 

ta-d^tetS™*!'*  ^^''"P  "  "ne  end  of  the 

.ng  into  sets  was  due,  thereforefto  the  chTef  s^ewl 
31 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

ard,  and  not  to  any  sense  of  affinity  or  rejection 
among  ourselves. 

After  a  few  polite  generalities  as  to  the  run  and 
other  sea-going  topics  the  conversation  broke 
into  dialogues — Mr.  Fin*<egan  and  Miss  Mul- 
berry, Mr.  Drinkwater  and  Miss  Blair.  This 
seeming  to  be  the  established  procedure,  it  re- 
mained for  me  to  take  it  as  a  relief. 

For  again  it  gave  me  time  to  ask  why  I  was 
graded  as  I  found  myself.  A  man  who  knows 
he  is  a  general  and  wakes  up  to  see  himself  a 
private,  with  every  one  trking  it  for  granted  that 
he  is  a  private  and  no  noi>\  would  experience  the 
same  bewilderment.  What  had  I  done  that  such  a 
situation  could  have  come  about?  What  had 
I  been  ?  How  long  was  my  knowledge  of  myself 
to  depend  on  a  group  of  shattered  brnin  cells.' 

I  had  not  followed  the  conversation  of  Mr. 
Drinkwater  and  Miss  Blair,  even  though  I  might 
have  overheard  it;  but  suddenly  the  lady  glanced 
up  with  a  clear,  straightforward  look  from  her 
myosotis  eyes. 

"Mr.  Soames,  have  you  ever  lived  in  Boston?" 

The  husky,  veiled  voice  was  of  that  bantering 
quality  for  which  the  French  word  gouailleur  is 
the  only  descriptive  term.  In  Paris  it  would  have 
been  called  une  voix  de  Montmartre,  and  as  an 
expression  of  New  York  it  might  best  be  ascribed 
to  Third  Avenue.  It  was  jolly,  free-and-easy, 
common,  and  sympathetic,  all  at  once. 

My  instinct  for  self-defense  urgsd  me  to  say, 
"No,"  and  I  said  it  promptly. 
3a 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"Or  Denver?" 

I  said,  "No,"  again,  and  for  the  same  reason. 
I  couldn't  be  pinned  down  to  details.     If  I  said, 
"Yes,"  I  should  be  asked  when  and  where  and 
how,  and  be  driven  to   invention. 
"Were  you  ever  in  Salt  Lake  City?" 
A  memoiy  of  a  big  gray  building,  with  the  Angel 
Moroni  on  the  top  of  it,  of  broad,  straight  streets, 
of  distant  mountains,  of  a  desert  twisted  and 
suffering,  of  a  lake  that  at  sunset  glowed  with  the 
colors  old  artists  burned  into  enamels — a  mem- 
ory of  all  this  came  to  me,  and  I  said,  "Yes," 
I  said  it  falteringly,  wondering  if  it  would  com- 
mit me  to  anything.    It  committed  me  to  nothing, 
so  far  as  I  could  see,  but  a  glance  of  Miss  Blair's 
heaven-colored  eyes  toward  her  friend,  as  though 
I  had  corroborated  something  she  had  said.     She 
had  forgotten  for  the  moment  that  Drinkwater 
was  blind,  so  that  of  this  significant  look  I  alone 
got  the  benefit.     What  it  meant  I,  of  course, 
didn't  know;  I  could  only  see  it  meant  something. 
The 'obvious  thing  for  it  to  mean  was  that 
Miss  Blair  laiew  more  about  me  than  I  knew 
myself.    While  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that, 
it  nevertheless  remained  as  part  of  the  general 
experience  of  life  which  had  not  escap^  me, 
that  one  rarely  went  among  any  large  number 
of  people  without  finding  some  one  who  knew 
who  one  was.    That  had  happened  to  me  many  a 
time,  especially  on  steamers,  though  I  could  no 
longer  fix  the  occasions.     I  decided  to  cultivate 
Miss  Blair  and,  if  possible,  get  a  clue  from  her. 
3  33 


CHAPTER  V 


THAT  which,  in  my  condition,  irked  me 
more  than  anything  was  the  impossibility 
of  being  by  myself.  The  steamer  was  a  small  one, 
with  all  the  passengers  of  one  class.  Those  who 
now  crossed  the  Atlantic  were  doing  it  as  best 
they  could;  and  to  be  thrown  pell-mell  into  a 
second-rate  ship  like  the  Auvergne  was  better, 
in  the  opinion  of  most  people,  than  not  to  cross 
at  all.  It  was  a  matter  of  eight  or  ten  days  of 
physical  discomfort,  with  home  at  the  other  end. 

I  knew  now  that  the  month  was  September, 
and  the  equinox  not  far  away.  It  was  mild  for 
the  time  of  year,  and,  though  the  weather  was 
rough,  it  was  not  dirty.  With  the  winds  shifting 
quickly  from  west  to  northwest  and  back  again, 
the  clouds  were  distant  and  dry,  lifting  from 
time  to  time  for  bursts  of  stormy  sunshine. 
For  me  it  was  a  pageant.  I  could  forget  myself 
in  its  contemplation.  It  was  the  vast,  and  I  was 
only  the  infinitesimal;  it  was  the  ever-varying 
eternal,  and  I  was  the  sheerest  offspring  of  time, 
whose  affairs  were  of  no  moment. 

Nevertheless,  I  had  pressing  instant  needs,  or 
needs  that  would  become  pressing  as  soon  as  we 
34 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

reach«l  New  York.  Between  now  and  then  there 
were  five  or  s.x  days  during  which  I  might  r^ 

ifTdidnW°t''f;  l!'''^  ^''  '''"P^'l  «"''  b" 
1  should  be  unable  to  get  money;  I  should  be 
unable  to  go  home.  I  should  be  lost.  Unless 
some  one  found  me  I  should  have  to  earn  a  Uvine 

1°  ""^  1  ^^rf  ',''"•'  ">""  *>«  something  I  could 
do  and  I  didn't  know  that  I  could  do  anything 
Of  all  forms  of  exasperation,  this  began  to  be 
the  most  maddenmg.  I  must  have  had  a  pro- 
fession; and  yet  there  was  no  profession  I  could 
thmk  of  from  which  I  didn't  draw  back  with  the 
peculiar  sick  recoil  I  felt  the  minute  I  approached 
whatever  was  personal  to  myself.  In  this  there 
were  elements  contradictory  to  each  other     I 

I  /h^Si?''^^  k'"'  "'""  *°  ^^'''  """^y  I  needed 
I  should  have  been  content  to  drift  into  the  un- 
known without  regret. 

tn  ?K  '  ^^"a  V  =*  '^"JT^  ^^*"  ''"«•  It  attached 
to  the  word  home.  On  that  word  the  door  had 
not  been  so  completely  shut  that  a  glimmer 
didn  t  leak  through.  I  knew  I  had  a  home.  I 
longed  for  it  without  knowing  what  I  longed  for. 
I  could  see  myself  arriving  in  New  York,  fulfilling 

turTh  '°"^  "-""""r-^nd  going  somewhere^ 
But  I  didnt  know  where.  Of  some  ruptured 
bram  cell  enough  remained  to  tell  me  that  on  the 
American  continent  a  spot  belonged  to  me;  but 
.t  to  Id  me  no  more  than  the  fact  that  the  spot 
had  love  m  it.  I  could  feel  the  love  and  not  dis- 
3S 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

cem  the  object.  As  to  whether  I  had  father  or 
mother  or  wife  or  child  I  knew  no  more  than  I 
knew  the  same  facts  of  the  captain  of  the  ship. 
Out  of  this  darkness  there  came  only  a  vision  of 
flaming  eyes  which  might  mean  anything  or 
nothing. 

I  was  unable  to  pursue  this  line  of  thought 
because  Miss  Blair  came  strolling  by  with  the 
same  nonchalant  air  with  which  she  had  passed 
me  before  lunch.  I  can  hardly  say  she  stopped; 
rather  she  commanded,  and  swept  me  along. 

"Don't  you  want  to  take  a  walk,  Mr.  Soames? 
You'd  better  do  it  now,  because  we'll  be  rolling 
scuppers  under  by  and  by." 

For  making  her  acquaintance  it  was  too  good 
an  opportunity  to  miss.  In  spite  of  my  inability 
to  play  up  to  her  gay  cheerfulness  I  found  myself 
strolling  along  beside  her. 

I  may  say  at  once  that  I  never  met  a  hu- 
man being  with  whom  I  was  more  instantly  on 
terms  of  confidence.  The  sketch  of  her  life 
which  she  gave  me  without  a  second's  hesita- 
tion came  in  response  to  my  remark  that  from 
her  questions  to  me  at  table  I  judged  her  to 
have  traveled. 

"I  was  bom  on  the  road,  and  I  suppose  I  shall 
never  get  off  it.  My  father  and  mother  had  got 
hitched  to  a  theatrical  troupe  on  tour." 

A  distaste  acquired  as  a  little  girl  on  tour  had 

kept  her  from  trying  her  fortunes  on  the  boards. 

She  had  an  idea  that  her  father  was  acting  still, 

though  after  his  divorce  from  her  mother  they 

36 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

had  lost  sight  of  him.    Her  mother  had  died  six 
years  previously,  since  which  time  she  had  looked 
after  herself,  with  some  ups  and  downs  of  ex- 
penence.     She  had  been  a  dressmaker,  a  milliner, 
and  a  model,  with  no  more  liking  for  any  of  these 
professions  than  she  had  for  the  theatrical      In 
winding  up  this  brief  narrative  she  astounded  me 
with  the  statement: 
•'And  now  I'm  going  to  be  an  adventuress." 
A  what?      I  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the 
deck  to  stare  at  her. 

She  repeated  the  obnoxious  noun,  continuing 
to  walk  on.  * 

."5"*  }  bought  you  were  a  stenographer." 
Av  JS"  %r^  °^  'i-     I''".<>««ving  poor  Miss 
Avenll.     She  s  my  dupe.     I  make  use  of  people 
m  that  way— and  throw  them  aside." 

"But  doing  the  work  for  Doctor  Averill  in  the 
mean  time. 
"Oh,  that's  just  a  pretext." 
"A  pretext  for  what?" 

"For  being  an  adventuress.  Goodness  knows 
what  evil  I  shaU  do  in  that  family  before  I  get 
out  of  It.  * 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 
"Oh,  well,  you'll  see.     If  yoti're  bom  baleful- 
well,  youve  just  got  to  be  baleful;    that's  all. 
Uid  you  ever  hear  of  an  adventuress  who  didn't 
wreck  homes? 

I  said  I  Iiad  not  much  experience  with  advent- 
uresses, and  didn't  quite  know  the  point  of  their 
occupation. 

S7 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"Well,  you  stay  around  where  I  am  and  you'll 
see." 

"Have  you  wrecked  many  homes  up  to  the 
present  ?"  I  ventured  to  inquire. 

"This  is  the  first  one  I  ever  had  a  chance  at. 
I  only  decided  to  be  an  adventuress  about  the 
time  when  Miss  Averill  came  along." 

That,  it  seemed,  had  been  at  the  Settlement, 
to  which  Miss  Blair  had  retired  after  some  trying 
situations  as  a  model.  Stenography  being  taught 
at  the  Settlement,  she  had  taken  it  up  on  hearing 
of  several  authenticated  cases  of  girls  who  had 
gone  into  offices  and  married  millionaires.  The 
discouraging  side  presented  itself  later  in  the  many 
more  cases  of  girls  who  had  not  been  so  success- 
ful. It  was  in  this  interval  of  depression  on  the 
part  of  Miss  Blair  that  Mildred  Averill  had  ap- 
peared at  the  Settlement  with  all  sorts  of  anxious 
plans  about  doing  good.  "If  she  wants  to  do 
good  to  any  one,  let  her  do  it  to  me,"  Miss  Blair 
had  said  to  her  intimates.  "I'm  all  ready  to 
be  adopted  by  any  old  maid  that's  got  the  wad." 
That,  she  explained  to  me,  was  not  the  language 
she  habitually  used.  It  was  mete  pleasantry 
between  girls,  and  not  up  to  the  standard  of  a 
really  high-class  adventuress.  Moreover,  Miss 
Averill  was  not  an  old  maid,  seeing  she  was  but 
twenty-five,  though  she  got  herself  up  like  forty. 
All  the  same.  Miss  Averill  having  come  on  the 
scene  and  having  taken  a  fancy  to  Miss  Blair, 
Miss  Blair  had  decided  to  use  Miss  Averill  for 
her  own  malignant  purposes. 
38 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

For  by  this  time  the  seeming  stenographer  had 
chosen  her  career.  A  sufficient  course  of  readine 
had  made  ,t  clear  that  of  all  the  women  in  the 
world  the  adventuress  had  the  best  of  it.  She  went 
to  the  smartest  dressmakers;  she  stayed  at  the 
dearest  hotels;  her  jewels  and  furs  rivaled  those 
of  duchesses;  her  life  was  the  perpetual  third 
act  of  a  play.  Furthermore,  Miss  Blair  had  yet 
to  hear  of  an  adventuress  who  didn't  end  in 
money,  marnage,  and  respectability. 

Havmg  been  so  frank  about  herself,  I  could 
hardly  be  surpnsed  when  she  became  equally 
so  about  me.  As  the  wind  rose  she  slipped 
I!!,?/  P™*««^«*1  angle,  where  1  had  no  choice 
but  to  follow  her.  She  began  her  attack  after 
propping  herself  m  the  comer,  her  hands 
hunched  P"'^''"*'  ""*  •»"  P««y  shoulders 

"You're  a  funny  man.  Do  you  know  it?" 
1  hough  mwardly  aghast,  I  strove  to  conceal 
"•y  af  "tK>n.     "  Funny  in  what  way  ?" 

Oh,  every  way.    Any  one  would  think—" 
What  would    any  one  think.?"    I   insisted, 
nervously,  when  she  paused. 
''Oh,  well  I     I  sha'n't  say." 
''Because  you're  afraid  to  hurt  my  feelings?" 
I  m  a  good  sort— especially  among  people  of 
our  own  class.     For  the  others"-she  shrugged 
her  shoulders   charmingly-"  I'm   an   anardhist 
and  a  socialist  and  all  that.    I  don't  care  who  I 

An2   r^^J  '^  they're  ,"P.     But  when  people  are 
down  already— I'm— I'm  a  friend." 
39 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

As  there  was  a  measure  of  invitation  in  these 
words  I  nerved  myself  to  approach  the  personal. 
Are  you  fnend  enough  to  tell  me  why  you 
thought  you  had  seen  me  in  Salt  Lake  City?" 

She  nodded.  "Sure;  because  I  did  think  so— 
there — or  somewhere." 
''Then  you  couldn't  swear  to  the  place?" 
I  couldn't  swear  to  the  place;  but  I  could  to 
you.  I  never  forget  a  face  if  I  give  it  the  twice- 
over.  The  once-over— well,  then  I  may.  But 
It  1  ve  studied  a  man— the  least  little  bit— I've 
got  him  for  the  rest  of  my  life." 

"But  why  should  you  have  studied  me— as- 
suming that  it  was  me?" 

''Assuming  that  that  water's  the  ocean,  I  study 
It  because  there's  nothing  else  to  look  at.  We 
were  opposite  each  other  at  two  tables  in  a 
restaurant." 

"Was  there  nobody  there  but  just  you  and 
mer 

"Yes,  there  was  a  lady." 

My  heart  gave  a  thump.  "At  your  table  or 
at  mine? 

''At  yours." 

"Did  she"— I  was  aware  of  the  foolish  word- 
ing of  the  question  without  being  able  to  put  it  in 
any  other  way— "did  she  have  large  dark  eyes?" 
Not  in  the  back  of  her  head,  which  was  all 
1  saw  of  her. 

Once  more  I  expressed  myself  stupidly.     "  Did 

fWri?'^  y*»"  ^^""^  't  was— my  wife-or  just  a 


fl 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
She  burst  out  laughing.    "How  could  I  tell? 
You  speak  as  if  you  didn't  know.    You're  cer- 
tainly the  queerest  kid—" 
^  J  «ied  to  recover  my  lost  ground.     "  I  do  know, 

'•pen  what  are  you  asking  me  for?" 
Because  you  sef-m  to  have  watched  nle— " 
^      I  didn  t  watch  you  "  she  denied,  indignantly. 

T  M  "L  7°"  .""^  ''='^''  y°"'  n«^«  ^th  you. 
1  couldn  t  help  seemg  a  guy  that  was  right  under 
•ny  «yes,  could  I?  Besides  which— " 
Yes?  Besides  which-?"  I  insisted. 
5>he  brought  the  words  out  with  an  air  of  chaf- 
fing embarrassment.  "Well,  you  weren't  got  up 
as  you  are  now.     Do  you  know  it?" 

As  I  reddened  and  stammered  somet'iing  about 
the  war,  she  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm  soothingly. 
Ther«  now!    There  now!    That's  all  right 
never  give  any  one  away.    You  can  see  for 
yourself  that  I  can't  have  knocked  about  the 
world  hke  I  ve  done  without  running  up  against 
this  sort  of  thing  a  good  many  time*—" 
^  What  sort  of  thing?" 
"Oh,  well,  if  you  don't  know  I  needn't  tell  you. 
But  I  m  your  fnend,  kid.    That's  all  I  want  you 
to  know.     It's  why  I  told  you  about  myself.     I 
wanted  you  to  see  that  we're  all  in  the  same  boat, 
harry  Dnnkwater's  your  friend,  too.    He  likes 
you.    You  stick  by  us  and  we'll  stick  by  you  and 
see  the  thing  through." 

It  was  on  my  lips  to  say,  "What  thing?"  but 
she  rattled  on  again. 

4« 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME       ^ 

"Only  you  can't  wear  tl  t  sort  of  clothes  and 
get  away  with  It,  kid.  Do  you  know  it?  Another 
feUow  nMght,  but  you  simply  can't.  It  shows  you 
up  at  the  first  glance.  The  i.ight  you  came  on 
board  you  might  just  as  well  have  marched  in 
canying  a  blue  silk  banner.  For  Heaven's  sake. 
If  you  ve  got  anything  else  in  your  kit  go  and  put 
It  on.  "^ 

''I  haven't." 

"Haven't?  What  on  earth  have  you  done 
with  all  the  swell  things  you  must  have  had? 
Burned  em?" 

The  question  was  so  direct,  and  the  good-will 
behmd  it  so  evident,  that  I  felt  I  must  give  an 
answer.    "Sold  them." 

.  "^*  i**^  **  *''"'  ^^^  y°"?  What  do  you 
know?  Poor  little  kid!  Funny,  isn't  it?  A 
woman  can  carry  that  sort  of  thing  off  nine  times 
out  often;  but  a  fat-head  of  a  man — " 

She  kept  the  sentence  suspended  while  gazing 
over  my  shoulder.  The  Kps  remained  parted  as 
m  uttenng  the  last  word.  I  was  about  to  turn 
to  see  what  so  entranced  her,  when  she  said,  in 
a  tone  of  awe  or  joy,  I  was  not  sure  which: 

"There's  that  poor  little  blind  boy  coming 
down  the  deck  all  by  himself.  You'll  excuse 
me,  won't  you,  if  I  run  and  help  him?" 

So  she  ran. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BEYOND  this  point  I  had  made  no  progress 
when  we  landed  in  New  York.  I  still  knew 
myself  as  Jasper  Soames.  Miss  Blair  still  sus- 
pected that  I  was  running  away  from  justice. 
1  hat  I  was  ninnmg  away  from  justice  I  suspected 
myself,  smce  how  could  I  do  otherwise?  AU 
the  way  up  the  Bay  I  waited  for  that  tap  on  my 
shoulder  which  I  could  almost  have  welcomed 
tor  the  reason  that  it  would  relieve  me  of  some 
ot  my  embarrassments. 

Those  embarrassments  had  grown  more  en- 
tangling throughout  the  last  days  of  the  voyage 
The  very  good-wiU  of  the  people  about  me  b- 
creased  the  comphcations  in  which  I  was  finding 
myself  involved.  Every  one  asked  a  different 
set  of  questions,  the  answers  I  gave  being  not  al- 
ways compatible  with  each  other.  I  didn't  ex- 
actly he;  I  only  replied  wildly-trying  to  guard 
my  secret  till  I  could  walk  off  the  boat  and  dis- 
appear from  the  ken  of  these  kindly  folk  who 
did  nothing  but  wish  me  well. 

I  accomplished  this  feat,  1  am  bound  to  con- 
fess, with  little  credit;    but  credit  was  not  my 
object.    All  I  asked  was  the  privilege  of  being 
alone,  with  leisure  to  take  stock  of  my  small 
43 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
assets  and  reckon  up  the  possibilities  before  me 
iJ  LT'"  •""**'''''«  [hat  a  man  such  as  I  was  could 
be  lost  on  the  threshold  of  his  home  I  needed  all 
the   faculties  that  remained  to  me  in  order  to 

Ku^d!        '"'^*  '"''  """'""  ^y  ""^^^  ^  «»'''» 
So  alone  I  found  myself,  though  not  without 

aXamed.  *°  "^  "^  '"*''"''  ^  ^"*  '=^*"  *''*» 
It  was  Miss  Blair  who  scared  me  into  them 
l-ommg  up  to  me  on  deck,  during  the  last  after- 
noon on  board,  she  said,  casually: 
"Going  to  stay  awhile  in  New  York?" 
It  was  a  renewal  of  the  everlasting  catechism, 
so  1  said,  curtly:  ' 

"I  dare  say." 
"Oh,  don't  be  huffy!    Looking  for  a  job?" 

Later,  perhaps;  not  at  once." 
In  her  smile,  as  her  ey  e  caught  mine,  there  was 
a  visible  significance.  "You'll  be  a  good  kid 
wont  you.?  Youll-you'll  "-eep  on  thVlevel?" 
1  made  a  big  effort  on  my  own  part,  so  as  to 
see  how  she  would  take  it.  "If  I'm  „ot  nabbed 
going  up  the  Bay." 

"Oh,  you  won't  be.     It  can't  be  as-as  bad 
as  all  that      Even  if  it  was-"    She  left  tWs 

"*^'"*'"^     *■  ""^  *°  «""«'  "  ^'''l*'  she  went  on. 
wnere  do  you  expect  to  stay?" 

I  was  about  to  name  one  of  New  York's  ex- 
pensive hotels  when  it  occurred  to  me  that  she 

Clf    u  "  ,°"  •  ''"'«^'"8  "  *•>«  announcement. 
She  would  take  it  as  a  joke.    I  realized  then  that 

44 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

,  WeU  then,  ,f  you're  looking  for  a  place-" 
«3^'?  t  say  that  I'm  that."  ^ 

Or  if  you  should  be,  I've  given  Harry  Drink 
water  a  very  good  address."  ^  ^" 

m.    lllf/r'^  a. rooming-house,  she  explained  to 

for  tha?  InA  '"'Jt  ^?^'  '^'  '»°'«  conventnt 
bor&  ""!'"*'» /»«  of  good  cafes  in  the  neigh- 

AJfon?„  ^^\*°"  "^  °f  ""^  "«  particular 
Alfonso  was  the  name  of  the  restaurateur^ 
where  one  could  get  a  very  good  dinner  ^;: 
wme  for  seventy-five  cents,  ^d  an  ad;,rte 
breakfast  for  forty.  Moreover,  Miss  Blai?  had 
long  known  the  lady  who  kept  the  roominSouse 

to  be,  and  any  one  whom  she,  Lydia  Blair  sent 
witl^her  recommendation  would  find  thTplace  ' 

I  was  terrified.    I  didn't  mean  to  go  to  this  well 

fiftrS  M*"«',  "r^'  f"  wen"7n  S" 
fifth  Street;  I  only  had  visions  of  being  wafted 
there  agamst  my  will.     So  much  had  hap^ned 

was'J^aid'^^tr'l'i""  .'""  consulted^? 
was  atraid  of  the  kmdhest  of  intentions.  When  at 
dmner  that  evening  Miss  Mulberry  apolorized 

fnrthet-  "'''*  °J-  ^''-  ~""^''''  toward  meXr- 

ng  the  tnp   ascnb.ng  it  to  a  peculiarity  of  hers 

m  never  making  gentlemen  friends  till  sure  they 

were  gentlemen,  ^'>'*  "«•— • ■  ^"^^ 


'  offering  me  her 


4S 


permanent 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

address,  I  resolved  that  after  that  meal  none  of 
the  whole  group  should  catch  another  glimpse 
of  me. 

For  this  reason  I  escaped  to  my  cabin  directly 
after  dinner,  packed  my  humble  belongings,  and 
went  to  bed.  When,  toward  eleven,  Drinkwater 
canie  down,  putting  the  question,  as  he  stumbled 
in.  Sleep,  Jasper?"  I  replied  with  a  faint  snore. 
For  the  la;rt  two  or  three  days  he  had  been  scat- 
termg  Jaspers  throughout  his  sentences,  and  I 
only  didn't  ask  him  to  give  up  the  practice  be- 
cause of  knowing  that  with  men  of  his  class 
familiarity  is  a  habit.  Besides,  it  would  be  all 
over  in  a  few  days,  so  that  I  might  as  well  take 
It  patiently. 

And  yet  I  was  sorry  that  it  had  to  be  so,  for 
something  had  made  me  like  him.  During  the 
days  of  the  equinoctial  bad  weather  it  had  fallen 
to  me  to  steer  him  about  the  staggering  ship,  and 
one  IS  naturally  drawn  to  anything  helpless. 
Then,  too,  of  all  the  men  to  whom  I  ever  lent  a 
hand  he  was  the  most  demonstrative.  He  had 
a  boy[s  way  of  pawing  you,  of  sprawling  over  you, 
of  giving  your  hand  little  twitches,  or  affectionate 
squeezes  to  your  arm.  There  was  no  liberty  he 
wouldn't  take;  but  wher  he  took  them  they 
didnt  seem  to  be  liberties.  If  I  betrayed  a 
hint  of  annoyance  he  would  pat  me  on  any  part 
of  my  person  he  happened  to  touch,  with  some 
such  soothing  words  as: 

"There,  there,  poor  'ittle  Jasper!    Let  him 
come  to  his  muwerums  and  have  his  'ittle  crv  " 
46 


f 


I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

people  in  Ls  c  ass  iTJZT^'  ^'^*^*''  ^^at 
courtesy  than  tho^b'^be  tH"*'"*  *"  ''"'^ 
to  it.  True,  he  was  hKnTl  u'^  •''"*'  "«e<I 
to  be  expec^e/^at  I^h;  M  V'.'"  "  ^«  "°t 
bKnd  marThap^ened  to  ml  Jr'^  ^'^^  ^^^'^ 
ing.  Besides  all  this  I  Lw  T""  '"  *"^«'- 
what  I  meant  to  do  Ja  T'^'f  "P  ""^  ™nd 
fu«her  even";iS  ^se,"/  "'""'  *"  '''^  « 

wh":  h?madta?ecS':!i  *°  ^^^  "/P"  ''-^ 
"Yni.'ll  u  ***^**"''  attempt  to  draw  me 

having  passed  I  frit  ;/„  ^  **™"<'  or  two 

thr^%?t'gir.,,T-"'-  "'"^^'  Two  or 
There'll  bT-Sack-anT"^  '?•""''  '^'  ^°^^- 
well,  a  pile  of  '/„  »  A  ~"~J""~="«*-a- 
jnto  his/pil  J^he  wSrnd^'irtft""- 
/jp  Jasper.  I'll  b^ru  be^^iri^.L^T^' 

tuSSt^d  w:„VtoT""\?'"  ^'''^  '''«ff.  I 
slipped  out  ofXr*K-  if?-  ^P  ^^'^  ''''wn  I 
stirred  Eariv  ri  Jn  ^^°'^  '^^  ^^^^  "'='«  had 
of  silver  tfssue  SHvef t""  '''^^''l'"  ^  •"0"»ng 
Bay,  wovenTmo  the^r  ^7^"  J"",!  ''^^  *''' 
see  of  the  sky.  TaJdn;  m„  I  ^^'^  4'  "^^  '^""•'l 
^      i  along  my  place  as  far  toward 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

the  bow  as  I  could  get,  I  watched  till  two  straight 
lines  forming  a  right  angle  appeared  against  the 
mist,  after  which,  magical,  pearly,  spiritual, 
white  in  whiteness,  tower  in  cloud,  the  great  city 
began  to  show  itself  through  the  haze,  like  some- 
thing bom  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

Having  nothing  to  carry  but  my  bag  and  suit- 
case, I  was  almost  the  first  on  shore.  So,  too,  I 
must  have  been  the  first  of  the  passengers  ready 
to  leave  the  dock.  But  two  things  detained  me, 
just  as  I  was  going  to  take  my  departure. 

The  first  was  fear.  It  came  without  warning 
— a  fear  of  solitude,  of  the  city,  of  the  danger  of 
arrest,  of  the  first  steps  to  be  taken.  I  was  like 
a  sick  man  who  hasn't  realized  how  weak  he  is 
till  getting  out  of  bed.  I  had  picked  up  my  bags 
after  the  custom-house  officer  had  passed  them, 
to  walk  out  of  the  pen  under  the  letter  S,  when 
the  thought  of  what  I  was  facing  suddenly  ap- 
palled me.  Dropping  my  load  to  the  dusty 
floor,  I  sank  on  the  nearest  trunk. 

I  have  lead  in  some  English  book  of  reminis- 
cences the  confession  of  dread  on  the  part  of  a 
man  released  after  fifteen  years'  imprisonment 
on  first  going  into  the  streets.  The  crowds,  the 
horses,  the  drays,  the  motors,  the  clamor  and 
dang,  struck  him  as  horrific.  For  joining  the 
blatant,  hideous  procession  already  moving  from 
the  dock  I  was  no  more  equipped  than  Minerva 
would  have  been  on  the  day  when  she  sprang, 
full-grown  and  fully  armed,  from  her  father's  head. 
Looking  up  the  long  lines  of  pens,  I  could  see 
48 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Miss  Blair  steering  Dnnkwater  from  the  ganit- 
way  toward  the  letter  D.     I  noticed  his  movi 
ments  as  reluctant  and  terrified.    The  din  I 
found  appalluig  even  with  the  faculty  of  sight 
must  have  been  menacing  to  him  in  his  dark- 
ness.     He  was  still  trying  to  take  it  with  a  laugh, 
but  the  memment  had  become  frozen. 
Jjeoing  my  two  bags  again.  I  ran  up  the  line. 
Oh,  you  dear  old  k.d  I"  Miss  Blair  exclaimed, 
as  1  came  withm  speaking  distance,  "I'm  sure 
glad  to  see  you.     I  was  afraid  you'd  been—" 
Knowing  her  suspicion,  I  cut  in  on  her  fear. 
No;  It  d,dn  t  happen.     I-got  off  the  boat  all 

^nA^JiTJ"  ^""  r^l"  '°°'''"8  after  my  things 
and^ran  back  to  see  ,f  there  was  anything  I  could 

"Bless  you!    There's  everything  you  can  do. 
Harry  s  been  crymg  for  you  like  a  baby  for  its 

"Where  is  he?" 

The  words  were  his.    Confused  by  the  hub- 

tl,,;!lf  ''='V'''^l"«."  '''"  ^°"8  direction,  so 
that  the  grab  with  which  he  seized  me  was  like 

hand"    "  ""^      '*'"*'  **"  clutching  a  friendly 
In  the  end  I  was  in  a  taxicab,  bound  for  the 
rooming-house  "rather  far  west"  in  Thirty-fifth 
Street,  with  my  charge  by  my  side. 
Say,  isn't  this  the  grandest!" 
The  accent  was  so  sincere  that  I  laughed      We 
were  out  m  the  sunlight  by  this  time,  plowing  our 
way  through  the  squalor. 
*  49 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

''What's  grand  about  it?" 

"Oh,  well,  Miss  Blair  finding  me  that  house  to 
go  to— and  you  going  along  with  me— and  the 
doctor  coming  to  see  me  to-morrow  to  tallc  about 
ajob— " 

"Whatjobr 

"Oh,  some  job.  There'll  be  one.  You'U  see. 
I've  got  the  darnedest  good  luck  a  guy  was  ever 
bom  with — all  except  my  name.'! 

"What  about  the  fellows  you  said  would  be 
jazzing  around  the  dock  to  meet  you?" 

I  was  sorry  for  that  bit  of  cruelty  before  it  had 
got  into  words.  It  was  one  of  the  rare  occasions 
vOn  which  I  ever  saw  his  honest  pug-face  fall. 

"Say,  you  didn't  believe  that,  did  you?" 

'|You  said  it." 

"Oh,  well,  I  say  lots  of  things.    Have  to." 

We  jolted  on  till  a  block  in  the  traffic  enabled 
him  to  continue  without  the  difficulty  of  speak- 
ing against  noise.  "Look  here!  I'm  going  to 
tell  you  something.    It's — it's  a  secret." 

"Then  for  Heaven's  sake  keep  it." 

"I  want  you  to  know  it.  I  don't  want  to  be 
your  friend  under  false  pretenses." 

It  seemed  to  me  an  opportunity  to  clarify  the 
situation.  We  were  on  land.  We  were  in  New 
York.  It  was  hardly  fair  to  these  good  people 
to  let  them  think  that  our  association  could  con- 
tinue on  the  same  terms  as  at  sea.  Somewhere 
in  the  back  of  my  strained  mind  was  the  fact  that 
I  had  formerly  classed  myself  as  a  snob  and  had 
;been  proud  of  the  appellation.  That  is,  I  had 
SO 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

garicd  Ihislni '"'*"'"«  "P""  ■"«•  «•«»  hS  r^ 
garaea  this  skill  as  an  accomplishment      F.nJ 

E'Tha?""'  f "'  -^  -'  Siar'S 

Mulberry.  ^''-  ^'"neg""  and  Miss 

mnTf'll''".  """^  >**"  relatively  easy.    It  was 

app.aci^5;Itri:d^^lV™^^^^^^^^^ 
f™lt,~T"*'1  herself  with  disquieting  kS 

XeYmtrd^ecT-h^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

I  £d\er^e«iLr  sTr  "C^hth^-a' 

cil  I  h^W^  k  !  "'¥   ^^  •>"  '"to  coun- 

cil 1  helped  her  to  choose  between  a  Herati  and 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

the  AyeriUs  again,  and  Drinkwater  must  be  given 
to  ^demand  that  he,  too,  was  an  incident. 

My  dear  fellow,  there  are  no  pretenses.  We 
sunply  met  on  board  ship,  and  because  of  youi^ 
your  accident  I'm  seeing  you  to  your  door. 
Ihat  s  all.    It  doesn't  constitute  friendship." 

•  •  J  r.  "  *'*^*'"  ^"^  *>•*  unexpected  re- 

jomder.  "I  m  not  that  kind  at  all.  When  a  fel- 
low s  white  with  me,  he's  white.  I'm  not  going 
to  be  ashamed  of  him.  If  you  ever  want  any 
one  to  hold  the  sponge  for  you,  Jasper^" 

I  »fPe«ed  stupidly,  "Hold  the  sponge?" 
Go  bail  for  you— do  anything.  I  couldn't 
go  bail  for  you  on  my  own,  of  course;  but  I 
could  hustle  round  and  get  some  one  to  do  it 
Lydia  Blair  knows  a  lot  of  people— and  there's 
the  doctor.  Say,  Jasper,  I'm  your  friend,  and 
1  m  going  to  stand  by  the  contract." 

The  taxi  lumbered  on  again,  while  I  was  de- 
batmg  with  myself  as  to  what  to  say  next,  or 
whether  or  not  to  say  anything.  One  thing  was 
dcaiv  that  no  matter  what  fate  awaited  me  I 
couldnt  have  Drinkwater  holding  the  sponge 
for  me,  nor  could  I  appear  in  court,  or  anywhere 
else,  with  a  man  of  his  class  as  my  backer. 

We  were  lurching  into  Broadway  when  he 
grasped  me  suddenly  by  the  arm,  to  say: 

Look  here,  Jasper!  To  show  what  I  think 
of  you  I  m  going  to  make  you  listen  to  that  se- 
cret.  I— I  wasn't  expecting  any  one  to  meet 
me.  There  s  no  one  to  meet  me.  Do  you  get 
that?  " 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 


I  said  that  1 1 


,  but  found  1 


liar 


.    -  1  nothine  I 

^situation. 

"Oh,  but  there  is,  though.  I've  got— I've  eot 
no  fnends-not  so  much  as  a  father  or  a  mother 
I  never  d.d  have.  I  was-I  was  left  in  a  bask« 
on  a  door-step-twenty-three  years  ago-and 
brought  up  ,n  an  orphans'  home  in  Texas  There 
you  ve  got  .t  straightl  I've  passed  you  up  tE 
one  and  only  dope  on  Harry  Drinl^ater,  and 
any  p.y  that's  afraid  he  can't  be  my  frieS'wfth- 
out  weanng  a  dress-suit  to  breakfast—" 

It  was  so  delicate  a  method  of  telling  me  that 
I  was  as  good  as  he  was  that  it  seem^  best  to 
let  the  subject  of  our  future  relations  drop.    Thev 

the  plan  that  had  already  begun  to  dawn  in  me. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MISS  GOLDIE  FLOWERDEW.  for  that  was 
the  name  on  our  note  of  introduction,  was 
at  home,  but  kept  us  waiting  in  a  room  where  I 
made  my  first*  study  of  a  rooming-house.  It  was 
another  indication  of  what  I  had  not  been  in  my 
P*^.  I'*'^  ^*'"  "  rooming-house  was  new  to  me. 

This  particular  room  must  in  the  'sixties  have 
been  the  parlor  of  some  prim  and  prosperous 
fanuly.  It  was  long,  narrow,  dark,  with  dark 
carpets,  and  dark  coverings  to  the  chairs.  Dark 
pictures  hui;g  on  dark  walls,  and  dark  objets  d'art 
adorned  a  terrifying  chimneypiece  in  black  mar- 
ble. Foldmg-doors  shut  us  off  from  a  back  room 
that  was  probably  darker  still;  and  through  the 
interstices  of  the  shrunken  woodwork  we  could 
hear  a  vague  rustling. 

The  rustling  gave  place  to  a  measured  step, 
which  finally  proceeded  from  the  room  and 
sounded  along  the  hall,  as  if  taken  to  the  rhythm 
of  a  stone  march  like  that  in  "Don  Giovanni," 
when  the  statue  of  the  Commander  comes  down 
from  its  pedestal.  My  companion  and  I  in- 
stinctively stood  up,  divining  the  approach  of  a 
Presence. 

54 


THE  THREAD  OF  ELAME 

.  TTie  Presence  was  soon  on  the  threshold,  doinir 
justice  to  the  epithet.  The  statue  of  the  Com- 
mander, dressed  in  the  twentieth-century  style 
of  sweet  smeen  and  crowned  by  a  shock  of 
bleached  hair  of  tempestuous  wave,  would  have 
looked  hke  Miss  Goldie  Flowerdew  as  she  stood 
before  us  majestically,  fingering  our  note  of 
introduction. 

"So  she's  not  coming,"  was  her  only  observa- 
tion dehvered  in  a  voice  so  deep  that,  like  Mrs. 
Siddons's  "Will  it  wash?"  it  startled. 

Did  you  expect  her?"  I  ventured  to  say. 

♦k    M*?"  '''I'f' '"''"  ^^^  »8=»»n-    "Which  is 
tne  blmd  one? 

Drinkwater  moved  forward.  She,  too,  moved 
faa  to  fac°"^*  «>»  the  room  and  scanning  him 

."You  don't  look  so  awfiil  blind." 
No,  but  I  am— for  the  present." 
For  the  present?    Does  that  mean  that  you 
expect  to  regam  your  sight?" 

'The  doctors  say  that  it  may  come  back  as 
suddenly  as  it  went." 

"And  suppose  it  don't?" 

"Oh,  well,  I've  got  along  without  it  for  the^ 
past  SIX  months,  so  I  suppose  I  can  do  it  for  the 
next  sixty  years  I've  given  it  a  good  try,  and 
m  some  ways  I  like  it."  j>     '^ 

"You  do,  do  you?" 

''Yes.  lady." 

"Then,"  she  declared,  in  her  tragic  voice,  "I 
like  you. 

SS. 


if:l 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

He  flushed  Uke  a  girl  flushes,  though  his  grin 
was  his  own  specialty. 

r^.'^^y",  ''*  ''*8an,  in  confidential  glee,  "Miss 
Blair  said  you  would — " 

"Tell  Lydia  Blair  that  she's  at  liberty  to  be- 
stow her  affections  when  and  as  she  chooses;  but 
beg  her  to  be  kind  enough  to  allow  me  to  dispose 
of  mine.     You'd  like  to  see  her  room." 

She  was  turning  to  begin  her  stone  march  tow- 
ard the  stairs,  but  Drinkwater  held  her  back, 
bay,  lady,  is  it— is  it  her  room?" 
Certainlyj  it's  the  one  she's  always  had  when 
she  s  been  with  me,  and  which  she  reserved  by 
letter  four  weeks  ago.  I  was  to  expect  her  as 
soon  as  the  steamer  docked." 

"S'*'  *''*"~"  ^^^  ^°y  tegan  to  stanuner. 
Wonsense,  my  good  man!  Don't  be  foolish. 
Mie  s  gone  elsewhere  and  the  room  is  to  let.  If 
she  hadn't  sent  me  some  one  I  would  have 
charged  her  a  week's  rent;  but  now  that  she's 
got  me  a  tenant  she's  at  liberty  to  go  where  she 
likes.  She  knows  I'd  rather  have  men  than 
women  at  any  time  of  day." 

"Oh,  but  if  it's  her  room,  and  she's  given  it 
up  for  me—" 

"It  isn't  her  room;  it's  mine.  I  can  let  it  to 
any  one  I  please.  She  knows  of  a  dozen  places 
in  the  city  that  she'll  like  just  as  well  as  this,  so 
don  t  think  sjie'll  be  on  the  street.  Come  alone; 
1  ve  no  time  to  waste." 

"Better  go,"  I  whispered,  taking  him  by  the 
arm,  so  that  the  procession  started. 
S6 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

.Tml    II      '"«*5""'en"l    black-walnut    haf-and- 
umbrella  stand  was  visible  chiefly  because  of  the 

fnT  "^^"''^"r ^;    '^^^  fl'^"  -"«  Pointed 
m  the  darkest  shade  of  brown,  in  keenine  with 

the  massjve  body  of  the  staircase.     U^'^^hf  sS 
cTr^'et'etn^"*''*  k'""'  ""  '  ""^  of  d4  crim^^L 

A  hush  of  solemnity  lay  over  everythine 
Clearly  M.ss  Flowerdew's  roomers  were  off  "«; 
the  day,  and  the  place  left  to  her  and  the  litde 

The  long,  steep  stairs  curved  toward  the  top 
to  an  upper  hall  darker  than  that  below,  be^aus^ 
the  one  window  was  in  ground  glass  with  a  bord« 
of  red  and  blue.  Deep  crimson  was  again  the 
dommatuig  color,  broken  only  by  the  doofs  wh  ch 
may  have  been  mahogany.  All  doors  were 
dosed  except  the  one  nearest  the  top  of  the  stairs 

r^"\M°?*'  '^"-    ^'^  Flowerdew  Jush"d  h 
open,  bidding  us  follow  her. 

We  were  on  the  spot  which  above  all  others 
m  the  world  Lydia  Blair  called  home  Mien 
the  exquisite  bit  of  jewel-weed  drifted  past  me 

r.rthl\    t^  of  the  ^«r^f«.  this  haven  w« 
in  the  background  of  her  memory 

Through  the  gloom  two  iron  beds,  covered  with 
coarse  white  counterpanes,  sagged  in  the  out- 
57 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME  . 
lines  of  their  mattresses,  as  beds  do  after  a  great 
many  people  have  slept  in  them.  A  low  wicker 
armchair  sagged  m  the  seat  as  armchairs  do 
after  a  great  many  people  have  sat  in  them.  A 
peat  many  people  had  passed  through  this  room, 
wearing  ,t  down,  wearing  it  out;  and  yet  there 
was  a  woman  in  the  world  whose  soul  leaped 
toward  ,t  as  the  hearth  of  her  affections.  Because 
It  was  architecturally  dark  a  paper  of  oKve-green 
arabesques  on  an  olive-green  background  had 
been  glued  on  the  walk  to  make  it  darker  sSl; 

hm™  %'Kt°°''\^"'^  =»"  of  the  darkest 
topITo  say!*'  '^"^'^  "^^''^  *°  *•'«'  »'»« 
h-'K"  has  her  own  covers,  and  when  she  puts 
alt7Xr  ••""  '^'''^'^'^^'  """'^ «  -k- 
"Say.  isn't  it  grand !"  Drinkwater  cried,  look- 
ing round  with  his  sightless  eyes. 

It  s  grand  for  the  money,"  Miss  Flowerdew 

v^fr:''  .,  ^t''  "°*  '^'^  Waldorf-Astoria!  w 
yet  IS  It  what  I  was  used  to  when  on  the  «age- 
but  .t  s  clean'^-^hich  it  was-«and  only  re"^^ 

m,!  '^'*Tn.''r'  '^'".'''  •>««•  Come,  young 
man,  and  I'll  show  you  how  to  find  you^  way.'^ 
Miss  Flowerdew  may  have  been  on  the  stage, 
but  she  ought  to  have  been  a  nurse.  Not  ev^n 
Lydia  Blair  couU  take  hold  of  a  helpless  n^an 
Driik4«  tenderness  of  strength.  Holding 
Dnnkwater  by  the  hand,  she  showed  him  how 
58 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

to  find  the  conveniences  of  thJ.  n.«.  — •    • 
out  the  fact  that  th,  K„k  ***•  Porting 

Thetan'wLlrrrir'"  ^^  ^  -""ef 
not  a  man.  I've  had  JfaTe  r  ''°"""'  *"'""*=  " 
natty  you'd  ha;:i;^olX^,';:^*7  - -"  and 
and  I  Bot  rid  of  Vm  vm/^  "  female  ones— 
wheth«  to  put  h"b JI?'"  " ?"•"  *'"^*"'*  ^o^ 
in  the  washrsin'^h^T  eTa2s%rSt  " 

rJy-s-.:ss^^^^^^^^^ 
£«»--S'^rhSrKt£ 
asii,s«lr;;rivS''"^i^a"  '^r  ^^«"« 

Blair,"  she  conrim.«i    fc'.*  ' ''^  f^^er,  Byron 

Tn£\^,T^^^  *i;p^^"a"a^thS.^iotC 

starred  in 'SrWa^/of'sb -"J'"  ^''?  'T'^.^ 
charming  head  ^tTn«,fil  ^  ""rned  the 

chignon,  wh"e  I^L  F^wIT""'"*^*"''  ^y  « 
reminiscence       "I  IuIT'i^'T  T*''"'*'^  •>" 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

aame  part  so  long.  Easy  work  and  money,  but 
you  get  the  mannerisms  fixed  on  you.  I  was  a 
good  utility  woman  up  to  that  time;  but  when  I 
came  back  to  Broadway  I  was  Lady  Somberly. 
I  never  could  get  rid  of  her,  and  so  ...  1 11 
show  you  some  of  my  notices  and  photographs 
— no,  not  to-day;  but  when  you  come  round  to 
see  your  friend — that  is" — she  looked  inquir- 
ingly— "that  is,  if  you  don't  mean  to  use  the 
other  bed." 

This  being  the  hint  I  needed,  I  took  it.  With 
the  briefest  of  farewells  I  was  out  on  the  pave- 
ment with  my  bags  in  my  hands,  walking  east- 
ward without  a  goal. 

Once  more  I  had  to  stifle  my  concern  as  to 
Drinkwater.  I  saw  him,  when  Miss  Flowerdew 
would  have  gone  down-stairs,  sitring  alone  in 
his  darkness,  with  nothing  to  do.  His  trunk, 
the  unpacking  of  which  would  give  him  some 
occupation,  would  not  arrive  until  evening;  and 
in  the  mean  time  he  would  have  no  one  but  him- 
self for  company.  He  couldn't  go  out;  it  would 
be  all  he  could  do  to  feel  his  way  to  the  bath- 
loom  and  back,  though  even  that  small  excursion 
would  be  a  break  in  his  monotony.  .  .  . 

But  I  took  these  thoughts  and  choked  them. 
It  was  preposterous  that  I  should  hold  myself 
responsible  for  the  comfort  of  a  boy  met  by  chance 
on  a  steamer.  Had  I  taken  him  in  charge  from 
affection  or  philanthropy  it  would  have  been 
all  very  well;  but  I  had  no  philanthropic 
promptings,  and,  while  I  Uked  him,  I  was  far 
60 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

I^^^i^J^  Jh"  wavenng  sympathy  as  affection. 
I  was  Sony  for  hin,  of  course;  but  others  must 
take  care  of  h.m.  I  should  have  aU  I  could  do 
in  taking  cate  of  myself. 

wI°{7S^"''a  °u'  ^"^^y  Poti^ir^g  at  fir«  the 
way  1  took,  and  then  consciously  looking  for  a 
hotel.    As  to  that.  I  had  definuely  made Ip  my 

t^^  u°V  '^  '°  ""y  °f  ^''°«'  »>«ter  known, 
though  the  names  of  several  remained  inTy 
memory,  till  I  had  properly  clothed  mysSf 
Though  m  a  measure  I  had  grown  used  to  my 

a  passer-by  went  up  in  amused  surprise. 

Ynrt  f TT  Tr^^y  ?"°"8h  that  I  knew  New 
York  and  that  I  knew  it  tolerably  well;  and  2 
most  as  quickly  I  learned  that  I  knew  t  not  as 
a  resident  but  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 

self  ahjrays  coming  and  always  going.  From 
what  direction  I  had  come  and  in  what^direaTon 
I  turned  on  lea^ng  still  were  mysteries.  But 
the  conviction  of  having  no  abiding  tie  with  this 
city  was  as  strong  as  that  of  the  spectator  in  a 
ttrpby  "^  "°  Pennanent  connection  with 

to^tTn'i''  '"*^*« ]>?*«'  «  last,  I  made  bold 
to  go  m,  finding  myself  m  a  lobby  of  imitation 
onyx  and  an  atmosphere  heavy  ^th  Tobac^ 

IhlT    f'"  '''".^">'  "'"'"  *''«=  *yes  of  some 

three  or  four  colored  boys  who  didn't  offer  to 

assist  me  with  my  bags,  and  applied  for  a  room 

6i 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

A  courteous  young  man  of  Slavic  nationality  te- 
gretted  that  they  were  "full  up."  I  marched 
out  agam. 

Repeating   this   experience    at    another   and 
another,  I  was  saved  from  doing  it  at  a  fourth 
by  a  uniformed  darky  porter,  who,  as  I  was 
about  to  go  up  the  steps,  shook  his  head,  at 
the  same  time  sketching  in  the  air  an  oval  which 
1  took  to  be  a  zero.   I  didn't  go  in,  but  1  was  oddly 
disconcerted.    It  had  never  occurred  to  me  till 
then  that  hotels  had  a  choice  in  guests,  just  as 
guests  had  a  choice  in  hotels.     I  had  always 
supposed  that  a  man  who  could  pay  could  com- 
mand  a  welcome  anywhere;  but  here  I  was,  with 
nearly  four  hundred  dollars  in  my  pockets,  un- 
able to  find  a  lodging  because  something  strange 
in   my  clothes,  or  my  eyes,  or  in  my  general 
demeanjr,  or  m  all  together,  stamped  me  as 
unusual.     'Who's   that   freak?"    I   heard   one 
bell-boy  ask  another,  and  the  term  seemed  to 
brand  me. 

The  day  was  muggy.  After  the  keen  sea  air 
It  was  breathless.  When  I  could  walk  no  longer 
I  stagjgered  into  a  humble  eating-house  that 
seemed  to  be  half  underground.  There  was  no 
one  there  but  two  waitresses,  one  of  whom,  wear- 
ing her  hair  a  la  madone,  came  forward  as  I  closed 
the  door.  She  did  not,  however,  come  forward 
so  quickly  but  that  I  heard  her  say  to  her  com- 
panion, "Well,  of  all  the  nuts— I"  The  ob- 
servation, though  breathlessly  suspended  there, 
made  me  shy  about  ordering  my  repast. 
63 


ill! 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 


good 


And  wh«n  it  came  I  couldn't 


eat 


It 


was 


_     1  enoudi,  _„„„ 

changed  my  French  In    '"  '"'?  ^'"•^^   '  ''^^'^ 
heranamaLgTp''  """'^  °"   '^"''   '"'l  V-= 

strJvetocaTa1,T"°"  \'^  ~'"*  *"  "«  -»>;'.  I 

Reaching  fiiaXay  I  drift^"  '"?  ''P*"*'- 
cameononeXh^We«!h1?L''°"'''^?^'*  «"  i 

5-wear  clothing  wSrStr  St  rt 
m  the  neighborhood.  On  en^rT/  tK  '^""'^ 
porium  I  adoDtwl  ,  «  entenng  the  vast  em- 
shrinking  as  7S  shmnT  "'""*'•  ,  ?^°  '°»8«' 
factofnfymisfortlj™^,,::^*^?  \t"«  *°  *l" 

htgh";.^-^^-^"w^Ti^ltJj',^„-^ 

iu^^^ttif/,::^^^^^^^^ 

^i^ri.r^ror^rSi"^'? 

best  I  could  do  without  coming  back  to  pJ,* 
country  m  a  French  uniform     Now  T      *^  * 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

I  had,  too,  another  inspiration.  It  occurred  to 
me  that  I  might  startle  myself  into  finding  the 
way  home.  Calling  a  taxi,  I  drove  boldly  with 
my  bags  to  the  Grand  Centr?.',  rerminal,  trusting 
to  the  inner  voice  to  tell  me  the  place  for  which 
to  buy  my  ticket.  With  half  the  instinct  of  a 
horse  my  feet  might  take  the  road  to  the  stable 
of  their  own  accord. 

I  recognized  the  station  and  all  its  ways — the 
red-capped  colored  men,  the  white-capped  white 
ones,  the  subterranean  shops,  the  gaunt  marble 
spaces.  I  recognized  the  windows  at  which  I 
must  have  taken  tickets  hundreds  of  times,  and 
played  my  comedy  by  walking  up  first  to  one  and 
then  to  another,  waiting  for  the  inner  voice  to 
give  me  a  dp.  I  found  nothing  but  blank  si- 
lence. The  world  was  all  before  me  where  'o 
choose — only  Providence  was  not  my  guide,  d 
if  Providence  was  my  guide.  His  thread  of  flame 
was  not  visible. 

I  suppose  that  in  that  station  that  afternoon 
I  was  like  any  other  man  intending  to  take  a 
train.  At  least  I  could  say  that.  So  pleased 
was  I  with  myself  that  more  than  once  during 
the  two  hours  of  ny  test  I  went  into  the  station 
lavatory  just  for  the  sake  of  seeing  myself  in  the 
glass.  It  was  a  long  glass,  capable  of  reflecting 
some  dozen  men  at  a, time,  and  I  was  as  like  the 
rest  as  one  elephant  is  like  another.  Oh,  that 
relief  I  Oh,  that  joy  I  Not  to  be  a  freak  or  a  nut 
made  up  for  the  moment  for  my  sense  of  home- 
lessness. 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
When  tired  of  listening  for  a  call  that  didnV 
"gain  1  was  take  aU  the  other  people  doinir  th« 

ttburr  •?'"  "ril^  f°'  »  *^  to  any  of 
the  suburbs.    I  might  have  had  a  family  ex- 

c^t^ome  V"T\  The  obvious  refli^fon 

spot,    and  yet  behind  me  was  a  historv^»? 
w,uld  have  startled  any  one  of  them  ^  H 
were  unstoried  human  s^  to  me;  and  yet  bi^ 

I  ^Jd  °i  *'•""  *^"*  '"y  "  <'"'"»  of  which 
*^j '^  "^l*  "o  more  than  I  could  see  of  III 
world  of  hght  beyond  the  speck  I  calkd  a  star 
Was  there  a  Providence  for  me  or  thlt 
other  grayed,  homeless^dog^^rgt^^^^^^^^ 
faces  before  me,  faces  of  tired  women,  faces  of 
despondent  men,  young  faces  hardened,  old  faces 
stupefied,  all  faces  stamped  with  the  allon' 
soddenness  of  man,  I  asked  if  anywhere  M 
universe  love  could  be  holding  upThe":m"pst 

Like  millions  of  others  who  have  ast«J  ♦!,.•. 
q«est.on,IfeltthatIhadmyttouElefort^i 
"5i-*°r\"***''"  inspiration.  As  it  warnowTh^' 
™dd.e  of  the  afternoon,  the  folly  of  exSThet 
from  the  mner  voice  became  apparent.  I  mu« 
resort  to  some  other  expedient,  and  the  "ew 
sureestion  was  a  simple  one. 

for  rr*""*  "^  •"«'  •"  '''«  parcel-office,  I  made 
for  the  nearest  great  hotel.    The  hall  wirf?  £ 

OS 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

colossal  fiimishings  was  familiar  from  the  mo- 
ment  of  my  entry.  The  same  ever  so  slightly 
overdressed  ladies  might  have  been  mincing  up 
and  down  as  on  the  occasion  of  my  last  visit  there; 
the  same  knots  of  men  might  have  begun  to 
gather;  the  same  orchestra  might  have  been  jig- 
ging the  same  tunes;  if  only  the  same  men  were 
warded  ™^''*  ^""^  "^  ingenuity  re- 

"I  wonder  if  there  are  any  letters  for  me  here? 
II  not  staymg  in  the  house;  but  I  thought—" 
Name? 

^?T?n  Vi*^'  "'  K^^P^^'  "I'll  see,  Mr.  Smith," 
or,  1 11  find  out,  Mr.  Jones,"  as  often  happens 
when  a  man  has  been  a  well-known  guest. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  a  spot  where  strangers 
from  other  places  congregated,  and  I  knew  that 
in  the  lobbies  of  hotels  one  often  met  old 
mends.  Inughtmeetoneofmine.  Better  still, 
one  of  mine  might  meet  me.  At  any  minute 
I  might  feel  a  clap  on  the  shoulder,  while  some 
one  shouted,  "HeUo,  old  Brown  1"  or,  "Why. 
i"V,»^'&  Robinson!  What'll  we  have  to 
"T  •  ,^^^  I'ad  been  familiar  salutations 
and  might  become  so  again. 

So  I  walked  up  and  down.  I  was  sorry  I  had 
neither  stick  nor  gloves,  but  promised  to  supply 
the  lack  at  once.  In  the  mean  time  I  could  thrust 
my  hands  into  my  pockets  and  look  like  a  gen- 
tleman at  ease  because  he  is  at  home.  Having 
enjoyed  this  sport  for  an  hour  or  more,  I  went  out 
to  make  my  purchases. 
66 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

letter  r;'„tcn%ST'='  ^^  ='^^"«"- 

"Nan,;?"    In  each   I   f°AA  "T  '"'P""'*' 

"Nevermind     I  don't  Slher**   \^^''' 
after  all  »     T„        L  t  .      *™'^*  *^^  l>e  any. 

intJ  "•"'''  ^  P»"''e'J  "P  and  down  and 

f  tire  ::j't?  ™/r  *  '"^™' 

only  »„«  f„,  ,0  6„  ^|,  ,f ,^=^|J '^^rj 
dX  °H  *'  "•"  '"  ^  ™«  ".  bS  1- 
But  in  the  mean  time  I  was  tired  and  lonelv 
There  were  two  or  three  things  I  mieht  do  "Ki 
of  which  I  had  premised  to  mvrerivl  . 

67 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

As  to  carrying  out  this  program,  I  had  but  one 
prudential  misgiving.    It  might  cost  more  money 
than  It  would  be  wise  for  me  to  spend.    My  visit 
to  the  purveyor  of  clothing  in  the  afternoon  had 
not  only  Lghtened  my  purse,  but  considerably 
opened  my  eyes.    Where  I  had  had  nearly  four 
hundred  dollars  I  had  now  nearly  three.     With 
very  slight  extravagance,  according  to  the  stand- 
ards  of  New  York,  it  wouid  come  down  to  nearly 
two,  and  then  to  nearly  one,  and  then  to  .  .  . 
Hut  I  shuddered  at  that,  and  stopped  thinking. 
Having  stopped  thinking  along  one  set  of  lines. 
1  presently  found  myself  off  on  another.     I  saw 
Harry  Dnnkwater  sitting  in  the  dark  as  I  was 
sitting  in  the  hall  of  a  hotel.    That  is,  he  was 
Idle  and  I  was  idle.    He  was  eating  his  heart 
out  as  I  was  eating  out  mine. 

It  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  go  back  to 
Ihirty-fifth  Street  and  take  him  out  to  dinner 
Alfonso,  recommended  by  Miss  Blair,  might  be 
no  more  successful  as  a  host  than  the  lady  with 
tresses  d  lamadone  who  had  given  me  my  lunch; 
but  we  could  try.  At  any  rate,  the  boy  wouldn't 
be  alone  on  this  first  evening  in  New  York,  and 
would  feel  that  some  one  cared  for  him. 
XT^^A**"*"  something  else  in  me  revolted.  No! 
Nol  A  thousand  times  nol  I  had  cut  loose 
trom  these  people  and  should  stay  loose.  On 
saying  good-by  to  Drinkwater  that  morning  I 
had  disappeared  without  a  trace.  For  any  one 
who  tried  to  follow  me  now  I  should  be  the  needle 
m  a  haystack.  What  good  could  come  of  my 
68 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

going  back  of  my  own  accord  and  putting  my. 
self  on  a  level  to  which  I  did  not  belong? 

Like  many  Americans,  I  was  no  believer  in  the 
equality  of  men.    For  men  as  a  whole  I  had  no 
respect,  and  in  none  but  the  smallest  group  had 
I  any  confidence.    Looking  at  the  faces  as  they 
passed  me  in  the  hall,  I  saw  only  those  of  brutes— 
and  these  were  mostly  people  who  had  had  what 
we  call  advantages.    As  for  those  who  had  not 
had  advantages  I  disliked  them  in  contact  and 
distrusted  them  in  principle.    I  described  my- 
self not  only  as  a  snob,  but  as  an  aristocrat.     I 
had  worked  it  out  that  to  be  well  educated  and 
well-to-do  was  the  normal.    To  be  poor  and  ill 
educated  was  abnormal.    Those  who  suffered 
from  lack  of  means  or  refinement  did  so  because 
of  some  flaw  in  themselves  or  their  inheritance. 
They  were  the  plague  of  the  world.    They  cre- 
ated all  the  world's  problems  and   bred   most 
of  Its  diseases.     From  the  beginning  of  time  they 
had  been  a  source  of  disturbance  to  better  men 
and  would  be  to  the  end  of  it.  * 

It  was  the  irony  of  ironies,  then,  that  I  should 
have  become  a  member  of  a  group  that  included 
a  lady's  maid,  a  chauffeur,  and  two  stenogra- 
phers, and  been  hailed  as  one  of  them.  The 
lady's  maid  and  the  chauffeur  I  could,  of  course, 
dismiss  from  my  mind;  but  the  two  stenogra- 
phers had  seemingly  sworn  such  a  friendship  for 
me  that  nothing  but  force  would  cut  me  free  from 
It.  Very  well,  then;  I  should  use  force  if  it  was 
needed;  but  it  wouldn't  be  needed.  All  I  had 
69 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

to  do  was  to  refrain  from  going  to  take  Drinfc. 
water  out  to  dmner,  and  they  would  never  know 
Where  I  was. 

WjJhi  ITu  ''  r"  ^^'''''.''^'ieve  it.  I  went. 
Within  half  an  hour  I  was  knocking  at  his  bed- 
room door  and  hearing  his  cheery  "Come  in." 

Why  I  did  this  I  cannot  tell  you.  It  was 
neither  from  loneliness,  nor  kind-heartedness, 
nor  a  sense  of  duty.  The  feet  that  wouldn't  take 
the  horse  to  the  stable  took  him  back  to  that 
cnmson  room...g-house.  and  that  is  all  I  can  sav 

Dnnkwater  was  sitting  in  the  dark,  which  was 

Z^t  .'*"  ''"*'  u^'  *"'  P"8  Krin  gave  an  added 
Illumination  to  the  room. 

"Say,  that's  the  darnedest!  I  knew  you'd 
come,  in  spite  of  the  old  lady  swearing  you 
wouldn  t.  I'd  given  you  half  an  hour  yet?  and 
here  you  are,  twenty-five  minutes  ahead  of  time  " 

ITie  reception  annoyed  me.  It  was  bad  enouah 
to  have  come;  but  it  was  worse  to  have  been 
expected. 

"How  have  you  been  getting  on?"  I  asked,  in 
order  to  relieve  my  first  anxiety 
"Oh,  fine!"  ^ 

"Haven't  you  been— dull?" 
||Lord,  no!" 

I'What  have  you  had  to  do?" 
"Oh,  enjoy  myself— feeling  my  way  about  the 

fnT'fi.   i  ,?"  f  ""  ^"'"J  ^«>  «««'.  ""d  out 

into  the  hall,  and  up  and  down  stairs  just  as  easily 

as  you  can.    It's  a  cinch."  ' 

70 


THE.THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"Wl  Til'!?"'  ""r'''"«  °'"Miss  Blair?" 
.K  'AC      f ''!*''  "P  »'^"*  »"  hour  ago  to  sav 
shed  found  the  swellest  place-in  Forty.fim 

a  SnI  r**  "•*•''"'  '^"'  **>«'*  'served  for 
a  month  and  more,  just  to—" 

it  ^?h'hi'  "S,*^''  """u".™*^  80  down  and  have 
It  with  her.  She  s  not  half  a  bad  sort,  when  vou 
come  to  know  her.    I've  atUA  K-,  ♦  ^ 

to  dinner  with  .e  at^^^fonttT.aTS 

l^ZyA""''  '"""-"'"'  "°-  ^-  ""  i"^» 

''No;  I've  come  to  take  you  out." 
.      5>ay.  Jasper!    Do  you  think  I'm  always  no. 

K^r?  A-      •"  ™."""8  to  dinner  with  me." 
on^:  "*"'  '''"  '^'"*'  ^  ^•*'''«''  "•  ^I'ing 

"What  made  you  think  I  was  coming  this 
evenmg  -because,  you  know.  I  didn't  mean  to  " 

sort''\L'tTali."'"'^  ^°"  "  '"^  "•     Y-'-  *•>« 

So  within  another  half-hour  I  found  myself 

at  Alfonso  s.  on  Drinkwater's  left,  with  S 

tte  n-XTrr  ^"'c^  ^''^'^  ^*^"'*''  --"-how 
now ?h,.  K  °'  ^''iStatue  of  the  Commander, 
now  that  she  wore  a  hngerie  hat  and  a  blouse  of 
the  kmd  which  I  believe  is  called  peek-a-bo^ 
She  was  well  known  at  Alfonso's,  however  Tr 
authority  .ecuring  us  a  table  in  'a  comeT'^ith 
71 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

social  attentiofl,  from  head  and  .ubordinate 
Waitresses. 

How  shall  I  tell  you  of  Alfonso's?    Like  the 

f^Ton   T'  "  ""V  ^°'  *"*  "  "«^  *«=•'''  "«»«- 

or?hlT*     1  "^^  '!''t*  ^'^  ™8''^  ""  the  home 
of  the  homeless  and  the  ho„.  less  were  numerous 

TjLhT  lI'^L^"'*/.    '    """y'  they  were 
r^i    ru  ^'  *^°''  "f  ^^  "nick  upon  the 

fia  when  they  offered  up  an  ox.    The  perfume 

!£r"LT"!:*'"  *"?.  °^'^^'  f*^'  »nd  over  and 

above  both  the  smeU  of  a  healthy,  promiscuous. 

perspiring  humanity,  washed  and  unwashed,  in 
«"'ve  hurthng  together,  hilarious  and  hun^ 
The  food  was  excellent;  the  wine  as  good  as 

W  TlT  °"tT"  '"  ^"""'   the  service^^id; 

1h,A  '^  "  masterpiece  of  organization. 

1  had  eaten  many  a  dmner  for  which  I  paid  ten 

Sh  V  "  wouldn't  have  compared 

that  Miss  Fbwerdew.  whose  eye  commended  the 
change  m  my  appearance,  should  ask  me  what 
1  had  been  doing  through  the  day.  1  didn't 
as  you  will  understand,  find  it  necessary  to  go 
into  details;  but  I  told  her  of  my  unsuccessf^ 
attempts  to  find  a  room.  "iccessiui 

AveSSf  ?"°"  "^  '***  ""*''  Barcelona,  in  Fourth 

I  told  her  I  had  not. 

"TTien  do  so."  Fumbling  in  her  bag,  she  found 
a  card  and  pencil.  "Take  that,"  she  commanded. 
7* 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

,n=n''l  '^^  J*^^'>'"y  a  friend  of  yours?"  I  asked 
inanely,  after  I  had  thar!  sd  her  ' 

Mr.  CWki^**  ted tM"V''V"*  '''f°« 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AFTER  a  delicious  night  I  woke  in  a  room 
XJL  which  gave  the  same  shock  to  my  fastidi- 
ousness as  the  first  glimpse  of  my  cabin  on  board 
ship.  I  woke  cheerfully,  however,  knowing  that 
I  was  in  New  York  and  that  not  many  days 
could  pass  before  some  happy  chance  encounter 
would  give  me  the  due  of  which  I  was  in  search. 
Cheerfully  I  dressed  and  breakfasted;  cheerfully 
I  sat  down  in  the  dingy  hall  to  scan  the  morn- 
ing's news. 

It  was  the  first  paper  I  had  opened  since  land- 
ing.    It  was  the  first  I  had  looked  at  since  .  .  . 

I  had  no  recollection  of  when  I  had  read  a 
newspaper  last.  It  must  have  been  long  ago; 
so  long  ago  that  the  history  of  my  immediate 
time  had  lapsed  into  formlessness,  like  that  of 
the  ancient  world.  I  knew  there  was  a  world; 
I  knew  there  were  countries  and  governments; 
I  knew,  as  I  have  said,  that  there  was  a  war.  Of 
the  causes  of  that  war  I  retained  about  the  same 
degree  of  information  as  of  the  origin  of  the  Wars 
of  the  Roses. 

Bewilderment  was  my  first  reaction  now;  the 

second  was   amazement.     Reading  the  papers 

with  no  preparation  from  the  day  before,  or  from 

the  day  before  that — with  no  preparation  at  all 

74 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

dus  were  m  Franr*  r,».j-        •    S  .     •    "'"- 
French   in   the  ^hn.T    'f  "I  B^'P"-".  the 

iJ     tT    '^'^  1'''^,  "  ""^«  *^"°^''»  dummy  at 
7S 


I 


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THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Wondering  what  she  could  mean,  and  whether 
or  not  the  longed-for  clue  might  not  be  at  hand, 
I  suffered  myself  to  be  led  by  the  arm  to  the  door 
of  the  hotel. 

At  first  I  saw  nothing  but  a  large  and  hand- 
some touring-car  drawn  up  against  the  curb. 
Then  I  saw  Drinkwater  snuggled  in  a  comer — 
and  then  a  brown  veil.  I  couldn't  help  crossing 
the  pavement,  since  Lydia  did  the  same,  and  the 
brown  veil  seemed  to  expect  me. 

"Miss  Blair  thought  you  might  like  a  drive, 
Mr.  Soames,  so  we  came  round  to  see  if  we  could 
find  you." 

"Come  on  in,  Jasper,"  Drinkwater  urged; 
"the  water's  fine." 

"Come  on.  Don't  be  silly,"  Miss  Blair  in- 
sisted, as  I  began  to  make  excuses. 

Before  I  knew  what  I  was  doing  I  had  stum- 
bled into  the  seat  opposite  Miss  Averill.  She 
sat  in  the  right-hand  corner,  Drinkwater  in  the 
left,  Miss  Blair  between  the  two.  I  occupied 
one  of  the  small  folding  armchairs,  going  back- 
ward. In  another  minute  we  were  on  our  way 
through  one  of  the  cross-streets  to  Fifth  Avenue. 

Having  grasped  the  situation,  I  was  annoyed. 
Miss  Averill  was  taking  the  less  fortunate  of  her 
acquaintance  for  an  airing.  Though  I  could  do 
justice  to  her  kindliness,  I  resented  being  forced 
again  into  a  position  from  which  I  was  trying  to 
struggle  out. 

Then  I  saw  something  that  diverted  my  atten- 
tion even  from  my  wrongs.  The  pavements  in 
76 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
mh  Avenue  were  thronged  with  a  slowly  mov- 
mg  crowd  of  men  and  women,  but  mostly  men 

LookinT  r  TT'  \  «'  '^'^  impossTble 
Lookmg  closely,  I  saw  that  they  were  all  of  the 
nations  which  people  like  myself  are  apt  to  con! 
sider  most  alien  to  the  average  American  Of 
true  Caucasian  blood  there  was  harX  a  "ireak 
among    them      Dark,    stunted,    oddly    hatted 

and  yet  hosti  e,  they  poured  up  and  up  and  ud 

rsfietof  ■""""' ''  ""i'"^  f-"-  --"- 

tam-side  mto  a  great  stream.    For  the  oedest rian 

ofU'tZm'  ^^l^--^»''-  was^^faTinch' 
ot  toot  room  These  surgmg  multitudes  monopo- 
h2ed  everythmg.     From   Fourteenth  Street  to 

Sle^bnTti  '"'"'  '  '^•"'"'^^  «f  more X  a 
mile  along  the  most  extravagantly  showy  thor- 
oughfare  m  the  world,  these  Jo  deZe  te^ 
IrtcT'T  '°°^  ?''^°'"^«  possession.  driS 
trade  by  the  sheer  weight  of  numbers. 

U)od   heavens!    What's   up?"   I   cried    in 
amazement.  •   '" 

nh^!!'  ^""'"'i''  T**?  ^'•^  ''""''tJess  used  to  the 
phenomenon^  looked  mildly  surprised. 

"It'sSl'lrV   tr^'   ^^^   ^'•y'"   she  smiled, 
and  work  F.-''"'l°"^  ^''^>'  ^""^^  fr"""  ^hops 
and  S  the  air.'"  ^'^  ^•'^■"^^"''  ^°  ^  ^''^  "^'''^ 
''But  is  it  like  this  every  day?" 

Sure  It  is!"  laughed  Miss  Blair.    "Did  vou 
never  see  the  Avenue  before?"  ^ 

77 


r«i 


I '« 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"I've  never  seen  this  before.  I'm  sure  they 
didn't  do  it  a  few  years  ago." 

Miss  Averill  agreed  to  this.  It  was  a  new 
manifestation,  due  to  the  changes  this  part  of 
New  York  had  undergone  in  recent  years. 

"  But  how  do  the  p3ople  get  in  and  out  of  the 
shops  ?" 

Miss  Blair  explained  that  they  couldn't,  which 
was  the  reason  why  so  many  businesses  ..ere 
being  driven  up-tovn.  There  was  an  hour 
in  the  day  when  e  /thing  was  at  a  stand- 
still. 

"And  if  during  that  hour  this  inflammable 
stuff  were  to  be  set  ablaze — " 

Miss  Averill's  comment  did  not  make  the  situ- 
ation better.  "Oh,  the  same  thing  goes  on  in 
every  city  in  the  country,  only  you  don't  see  it. 
New  York  is  unfortunate  in  having  only  one 
street.  Any  other  street  is  just  a  byway.  Here 
the  whole  city,  for  every  purpose  of  its  life,  has 
to  pour  Itself  into  Fifth  Avenue,  so  that  if  any- 
thing is  going  on  you  get  it  there." 

We  did  not  continue  the  subject,  for  none  of 
us  really  wanted  to  talk  of  it.  In  its  way  it  went 
beyond  whatever  we  were  prepared  to  say.  It 
was  disquieting,  it  might  be  menacing.  We 
preferred  to  watch,  to  study,  to  wonder,  as,  in 
the  press  of  vehicles,  we  slowly  made  our  way 
between  these  banks  of  outlandish  faces,  every 
one  of  which  was  like  a  slumbering  fire.  If  our 
American  civilization  were  ever  to  be  blown  vi- 
olently from  one  basis  to  another,  as  I  had  some- 
78 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

times  thought  might  happen,  the  social  TNT  was 
concentrated  here. 

But  we  were  scon  in  the  Park.  Soon  after  that 
we  were  runnmg  along  the  river-bank.  Soon 
alter  that  we  came  to  an  inn  by  a  stream  in 
a  dimple  of  a  dell  and  here  Miss  AveriU  had 
ordered  lunch  by  telephone.  It  was  a  nice  little 
lunch,  in  a  sort  of  rude  pavilion  that  simulated 
eatmg  m  the  open  air.  I  noticed  that  all  the 
arrangements  had  been  made  with  as  much  fore- 
sight as  if  we  had  been  people  of  distinct'    ^ 

bo  1  began  to  examine  my  hostess  w  ,e 

attention  than  I  had  ever  given  her,  coming  to 
the  conclusion  that  she  belonged  to  the  new  vari- 
ety of  rich  American  whom  I  had  somewhere 
had  occasion  to  observe. 

Sensible  and  sympathetic  were  the  iirst  words 
you  applied  to  her,  and  you  could  see  she  was  of 
the  type  to  seek  nothing  for  herself.  Brown  was 
her  color,  as  it  so  often  is  that  of  self-renouncing 
characters-the  brown  of  woodland  brooks  in  her 
eyes,  the  brown  of  nuts  in  her  hair,  and  all  about 
her  an  air  of  conscientiousness  that  left  no  place 
for  coquetry.  ^ 

Conscientiousness  was  her  aura,  and  among  the 

shades  of  conscientiousness  thatinspendingmoney 

thfihT"  ^"'-  KV'  '^'^  ^he  had  ^studied 
the  whole  question  of  financial  inequality  from 
books,  and  as  much  as  she  could  from  observa- 

hTd  nr^Kl*"  u"'?h*K''"*  "'^  °f  her  income 

had  probably  held  her  back  from  marriage  and 

dictated  her  occupations.     It  had  drawn  her  to 

79 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

to  keeolTf  ^'"''"■:='^^^d.    The  more  she  trild 
to  keep  me  from  seeing  it  the  more  she  betrayed 

buT?„  inn  '^"u'^''  °'-«'^"'^^^'  °'  ^"y  trick  of  obr 
couMr:;'"""""^  "'^''^'^  -'>'  --d-readi°„i 

getW  ,    be  the  .adVblhJrii;:  "~"  ^°- 
1  m  g  ad  of  a  word  alone  with  you  because-" 
Apparently  she  could  get  no  farther  Jn^hffT- 

It  didn  t  come  from  me."  ^ 

it's  notr'''  "''""  ''"'''  °"  "^  f""'''^^-     "And 
"No,  it's  not." 

Oh,  then— "    Her  tone  was  sliehtlv  that  nf 
disappomtment.  '8""y  tnat  ot 

80 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

••Did  you  want  it  to  be?"  I  smiled. 

was-"""'      "'    ''"  "^  ''"^^^  ^''""ght  it 

"Fm  sure  I  don't  know  why-*xcept  for  the 

t^tluH' ''"'  "?  ^^^  ^''°«  "'8''  ^d  non  have 
to  sell  them,  can't  one?" 

Jin"  "°*  ''■"'"'''  ''""'*  of  knowledge,  except 
among  connoisseurs  and  artists—"  '^ 

Oh,  Weill" 

Hn^^f*"^  uTm'  ■''°"8ht  if  you  were  in  that 

his-at  the  head  of  one  of  the  big  carpet  estab- 
hshments  m  New  York—" 
"It's  awfully  kind  of  him,"  I  broke  in   as  she 

I  n^d'ej  iVr/^;r  ^'^  ^«  ¥  carri:dr''a"d  if 
It^.  wi  li  ^  u^^  "•  ''"-''"*  I  'Jon't  need  it. 
It-It  wouldn  t  be  any  good  to  me.    I  thank  him 

&-"  '•="  ""--'y— d  you.  t<^  m1« 

She  looked  at  the  ground,  her  long  black  lashes 
almost  restmg  on  her  cheek. 

Not  in  the  shghtest.    I'm  extremely  grateful 
If  I  required  heip  there's  nobody-"  ^^  '''''"'• 
^  You  don't  live  in  New  York?" 
Im  gomg  to  stay  here  for-for  the  present." 
But  not— not  to  work?" 
That  I  shall  have  to  see." 

things.""'"""  ^°"*''  ^""^  writer^r  one  of  those 

aro',^"'  ^'"^  "°'  ,»ny  of  those  things,"  I  said, 
gravely;  and  at  that  we  laughed 
6  8i 


^li 


CHAPTER  IX 

W^t^  ^■'"'\^°  ^"^  "^"'^  >■"  time  for  me 
^^  .■'«8in  the  parade  of  the  hotel,     rit 

vast  assembhes  from  four  i^  1„  ™^"  i"*** 

noon  began  to  strike  ml  LA  ''"'^'y  ''^"- 

^therin^gs  l7af  ;S;feaT£r£^ 

citfme:^:    InteE^sTva^SThaf  ^''- 
not  pun>oseIe««     Tn  k«.i,   L      ^^™"y  that  was 

ment  of  Stal  tom^'  n-onotonous  incite 

82 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

lay  in  a  hint  of  barbaric  shamelessness.  Bar- 
baric shamelessness  marked  the  huge  shaven 
faces  of  most  of  the  men  and  the  kilts  of  most 
of  the  women.  I  mention  these  details  only  to 
pomt  out  that  to  me,  after  my  mysterious  ab- 
sence, they  indicated  a  socially  new  America. 

It  was  the  fourth  afternoon  when,  drifting 
with  the  crowd  through  a  corridor  lined  with 
tables  at  which  small  parties  were  having  tea, 
I  felt  the  long-expected  tap  on  my  shoulder. 

In  the  interval  too  brief  to  reckon  before  tum- 
mg  round  two  possibilities  were  clear  in  my 
mind.  The  unknown  crime  from  which  I  was 
running  away  might  have  found  me  out— or 
some  friend  had  come  to  my  deliverance.  Either 
event  would  be  welcome,  for  even  if  it  were  arrest 
I  should  learn  my  name  and  history. 
"Hello,  old  chap!  Come  and  have  some  tea." 
I  was  disappointed.  It  was  only  Boyd  Averill. 
Behind  him  his  wife  and  sister  were"  seated  at 
one  of  the  little  tables.  It  was  the  sort  of  in- 
vitation one  couldn't  refuse,  especially  as  they 
saw  I  was  strolling  without  purpose. 

It  was  Mrs.  Averill  who  talked,  in  the  bored 
voix  trainanU  of  one  who  has  everjrthing  the 
world  can  give,  except  what  she  wants  most. 
I  had  seen  before  that  she  was  a  beautiful  woman, 
but  never  so  plainly  as  now— a  woman  all  soft- 
ness and  dimpling  curves,  with  the  same  sug- 
gestions of  the  honeyed  and  melting  and  fatigued 
in  her  glances  that  you  got  from  the  inflection 
of  her  sentences. 

83 


I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

given  at  this  unusual  dmeoilh'*^''",:  ^'  ^^'^ 
iwown  singer  who  wl,  n«!-  u  ^^"  ''^  =«  ^ell- 
on  her  way'  to  W^ ^r  wft?  ^ew  York 

fo  Jng  S'^Aven^tCh'  "tt   ^-^^  '"- 
my  tea.  ^*  *°  ''"^  I  should  have 

"No,  the  Hugo  Wolff." 

«Wn  ^...,,  'irthlfthT'S"*"^^^'^"*-- 
his'^^es't^^rSe"'^'^  ^'-es,    Averill  kept 

other."  '       ^^'^^  "^  ">"*•«=  «  one  time  and  J^! 
"Abroad?" 

"S.'^3''road-and  here." 
"fT^Nf  specially  here?" 

said:  "venu  s  brown  eyes  as  she 


I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"You  seem  to  have  moved  about  a  good 
deal." 

"Oh  yes.  I  wanted — ^I  wanted  to  see  what 
was  happening." 

"And  you  saw  it'  ' 

Averill  asked  me  that,  his  gaze  still  fixed 
on  me  thoughtfully. 

"Enough  for  the  present." 

There  was  a  pause  of  some  seconds  during 
which  I  could  hear  the  unuttered  question  of  all 
thre.i,  "Why  don't  you  tell  us  who  you  are?" 
It  was  a  kindly  question,  with  nothing  but  sym- 
pathy behind  it.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  tacit  oflFer  of 
friendship,  if  I  would  only  take  it  up.  More 
plainly  than  they  could  have  expressed  them- 
selves in  words,  it  said:  "We  like  you.  We  are 
ready  to  be  your  friends.  Or.ly  give  us  the  least 
little  bit  of  encouragement.  Link  yourself  up 
with  something  we  know.  Don't  be  such  a 
mystery,  because  mystery  breeds  suspicion." 

When  I  let  it  go  by  Mildred  Averill  began  to 
talk  somewhat  at  random.  She  didn't  want  that 
significant  silence  to  be  repeated.  I  had  had 
my  chance  and  I  hadn't  taken  it.  Very  well, 
my  reasons  would  bo;  respected,  but  I  couldn't 
keep  people  from  wondering.  That  was  what 
I  knew  she  was  saying,  though  her  actual  words 
referred  to  our  expedition  of  a  few  days  pre- 
viously. 

And  of  th^>  she  spoke  "vith  an  intonation 
that  associated  me  with  herself.  Sh'-  and  I  had 
taken  two  nice  young  people  of  the  working- 
8S 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
classes  for  an  outin<»     Tj*  -.     l 

out  a  hint  that  as  New  YorL  in  I       c  .^ 

cording  to  changes  in  herL^^r^^^^^^^ 

in  the  person  observine  her     W^^»         *.nanges 

of  monochrome.     When  you  looked  at  hll  f 

OO 


-•H 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

what  they  symbolized,  but  this  much  at  least 
you  would  have  known — that  the  gold  was  the 
gold  of  fire,  all  the  more  dangerous,  perhaps,  be- 
cause it  was  banked  down. 

That  in  this  company,  with  its  batteries  of 
tacit  inquiry  turned  on  me  all  the  while  I  took 
my  tea,  I  was  uneasy  will  go  without  saying, 
and  so  I  took  the  earliest  possible  opportunity 
to  get  up  and  slip  away.  I  did  not  slip  away, 
however,  before  Mrs.  Averill  had  asked  me  to 
lunch  on  the  following  Sunday,  and  I  had  been 
forced  into  accepting  the  invitation.  I  had  been 
forced  because  she  wouldn't  take  no  for  an 
answer.  She  wanted  to  talk  about  music;  she 
wanted  to  sing  to  me;  in  r-jality,  as  I  guessed 
then,  and  soon  came  to  V  •  )w,  she  was  deter- 
mined to  wring  from  me,  .  .^  of  sheer  curiosity, 
the  facts  I  wouldn't  confide  of  my  own  accord. 

But  having  accepted  the  invitation,  I  saw  that 
there  were  advantages  in  doing  so.  O  >  back 
in  the  current  to  which  I  belonged,  I  sho  I  have 
more  chances  of  the  recognition  for  which  I  was 
working.  The  social  life  of  any  country  runs 
in  streams  like  those  we  see  pictured  on  isothermal 
charts.  The  same  kind  of  people  move  in  the 
same  kind  of  medium  from  north  to  south,  and 
from  east  to  west.  If  you  know  one  man  there 
you  will  soon  know  another,  till  you  have  a  chain 
of  acquaintances,  all  socially  similar,  right  across 
the  continent.  That  I  had  such  a  chain  I  didn't 
doubt  for  an  instant;  my  only  diflSculty  was  to 
get  in  touch  with  it.  As  soon  as  I  did  that  each 
87 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

name  would  bring  up  a  kindred  name,  till  I  found 
myself  swimming  in  my  native  channel,  wherever 
It  was,  like  a  fish  in  the  Gulf  Stream,  whether  off 
the  coast  of  Norway  or  off  that  of  Mexico. 

So  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  had  done 
right  in  ceding  tc  Mrs.  Averill's  insistence, 
though  it  occurred  to  me  on  second  thoughts 
that  I  should  need  another  suit  of  clothes.  That 
I  had  wag  well  enough  for  knockabout  purposes, 
especially  when  carried  off  with  some  amount 
of  bluff;  but  the  poverty  of  its  origin  would 
become  too  evident  if  worn  on  all  occasions. 
I  had  seen  at  the  emporium  that  by  spending 
more  money  and  putting  on  only  a  slightly  en- 
hanced swagger  I  could  make  a  much  better  ap- 
pearance in  the  eyes  of  those  who  didn't  examine 
me  too  closely.  I  decided  that  the  gain  would 
warrant  the  extravagance. 

Within  ten  days  of  my  landing,  therefore,  my 
nearly  four  hundred  dollars  had  come  down  to 
nearly  two,  though  I  had  the  consolation  of  know- 
mg  that  my  chances  of  soon  getting  at  my  bank- 
account  were  better.  At  any  minute  now  my 
promenades  in  the  hotels  might  be  rewarded, 
while  conversation  with  the  Averills  would  sooner 
or  later  bring  up  names  with  which  I  should 
have  associations. 

It  was  disconcerring  then,  on  the  following 
Sunday,  to  be  received  with  some  constraint.  It 
was  the  more  disconcerting  in  that  the  coldness 
came  from  Averill  himself.  He  strolled  into 
the  hall  while  I  was  putting  down  my  hat  and 
88 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

sdck,  shaking  hands  with  the  pecuUar  listlessness 
of  a  man  who  disapproves  of  what  is  happen- 
ing. As  hitherto  I  had  found  him  interested 
Md  cordial,  I  couldn't  help  being  struck  by 
the  change. 

"You  see  how  we  are,"  he  observed,  pointing 
to  an  open  packing-case.    "Not  up  to  the  point 
ot ^having  guests;   but  Mrs.  Averill— " 
_   "Mrs.  Averill  was  too  kind  to  me  to  think  of 
mconveniences  to  herself." 

j-^t",",*  f.T*  "P  *°  *''«  library,  will  you, 
and  rU  tell  her  you're  here." 

It  was  a  way  of  getting  rid  of  me  till  his  wife 
could  come  and  assume  her  own  responsibilities. 

So  long  a  time  had  passed  since  I  had  seen  the 
uitenor  of  an  American  house  of  this  order  that 
I  took  notes  as  I  made  my  way  up-stairs.  Out 
of  the  unsuspected  resources  of  my  being  came 
the  capaaty  to  do  it.  Most  people  on  entering 
a  house  see  nothing  but  its  size.  A  background 
more  or  less  elaborately  furnished  may  be  in 
their  niinds,  but  they  have  not  the  knowledge 
to  enable  them  to  seize  details.  The  careful 
arrangement  of  taste  is  all  one  to  them  with 
some  nondescript,  haphazard  jumble. 

In  this  dwelling,  in  one  of  the  streets  off  Fifth 
Avenue,  on  the  eastern  side  of  Central  Park,  I 
found  the  typical  home  of  the  average  wealthy 
American.  Money  had  been  spent  on  it,  but 
with  a  kmd  of  helplessness.  Helplessness  had 
designed  the  house,  as  it  had  planned,  or  hadn't 
planned,  the  street  outside. 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

A  square  hall  contained  a  few  monumental 
pieces  of  furniture  because  they  were  monumen- 
tal. A  dining-room  behind  it  was  full  of  high- 
backed  Italian  chairs  because  they  were  high- 
backed  and  Italian.  The  stairs  were  built  as  they 
were  because  the  architect  had  not  been  able 
to  avoid  a  dark  spot  in  the  middle  of  the  house 
and  the  stairs  filled  it.  On  the  floor  above  a 
glacial  drawing-room  in  white  and  gold,  with 
the  furniture  still  in  bags,  ran  the  width  of  the 
back  of  the  house,  while  across  the  front  was  the 
library  into  which  I  was  shown,  spacious,  cheerful, 
with  plenty  of  books,  magazines,  and  easy-chairs. 

In  the  way  of  pictures  there  were  but  two — 
modem  portraits  of  a  man  and  a  woman,  whom 
I  had  no  difficulty  in  setting  down  as  the  father  and 
mother  of  Averill.  Of  the  mother  I  knew  noth- 
ing except  that  she  had  been  a  school-teacher; 
of  the  father  Miss  Blair  had  given  me  the  de- 
tailed history  as  told  in  Men  Who  Have  Made 
New  Jersey. 

Hubbard  Averill  was  the  son  of  a  shoemaker 
in  Elizabeth.  On  leaving  school  at  fifteen  he 
had  the  choice  of  going  into  a  grocery  store  as 
clerk  or  as  office-boy  into  a  bank^  He  chose  the 
bank.  Ten  years  later  he  was  teller.  Five  years 
after  that  he  was  cashier.  Five  years  after 
that  he  had  the  same  position  in  a  bank  of 
importance  in  Jersey  City.  Five  years  after 
that  he  was  recognized  as  one  of  the  able  young 
financiers  in  the  neighborhood  of  New  York. 
Before  he  was  fifty  his  name  was  honored  by 
90 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

those  who  count  in  Wall  Street.  It  was  the  his- 
tory of  most  of  the  successful  American  bankers 
I  had  ever  heard  of. 

There  was  no  packing-case  in  the  hbraiy,  but 
a  number  of  objects  recently  unpacked  stood 
round  about  on  tables,  waiting  to  be  disposed  of. 
There  was  a  little  Irish  glass,  with  much  old 
porcelam  and  pottery,  both  Chinese  and  Euro- 
pcM.  I  had  not  the  time  to  appraise  the  things 
with  the  eye  before  Miss  Averill  slipped  in. 

She  wore  a  hat,  and,  dressed  in  what  I  sup- 
pose was  tan-colored  linens,  she  seemed  just  to 
have  come  in  from  the  street. 

"My  sister  will  be  down  in  a  minute.  She's 
generally  late  on  Sunday.  I've  been  good  and 
have  been  to  church." 

We  sat  down  together  on  a  window-seat,  with 
some  self-consciousness  on  both  sides.  I  noticed 
again  that,  though  her  hair  was  brown,  her  eye- 
brows and  long  curving  lashes  were  black,  strik- 
ing the  same  discreet  yet  obscurely  dangerous 
note  as  the  rest  of  her  personality.  In  the  topaz 
of  her  eyes  there  were  little  specks  of  gold  like 
those  in  her  chain  of  amber  beads. 

After  a  little  introduccory  talk  she  began  telling 
me  of  the  help  Miss  Blair  was  giving  Drinkwater. 
She  had  begun  to  teach  him  what  she  called  "big 
stenography."  Shorthand  and  the  touch  system 
were  included  in  it,  as  well  as  the  knack  of  trans- 
cribing from  the  dictaphone.  Boyd  had  bought 
a  machine  on  purpose  for  them  to  practise  with, 
looking  forward  to  the  day  when  Harry  should 
91 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

resume  his  old  job  connected  with  laboratory 
work. 

"And  what's  to  become  of  Miss  Blair?" 

My  companion  lowered  her  fine  lashes,  speak- 
ing with  the  seeming  shyness  that  was  her  charm. 

"I'm  thinking  of  asking  her  to  come  and  live 
with  me.  You  see,  if  I  take  a  house  of  my  own 
I  shall  need  some  one;  and  she  suits  me.  She 
understands  the  kind  of  people  I  Uke  to  work 
among — " 

"Oh,  then  you're  not  going  to  keep  on  living 
here." 

"I've  lived  with  my  brother  and  sister  ever 
since  my  father  died;  but  one  comes  to  a  time 
when  one  needs  a  home  of  one's  own.  Don't 
you  think  so?" 

"Oh,  of  course!" 

"A  man — Uke  you,  for  instance — can  be  so 
free;  but  a  woman  has  to  live  within  exact  limi- 
tations. The  only  way  she  can  get  any  liberty 
at  all  is  within  her  own  home.  Not  that  my 
brother  and  sister  aren't  angelic  to  me.  They 
are,  of  course;  but  you  know  what  I  mean." 
The  glance  that  stole  under  her  lashes  was  half 
daring  and  half  apologetic.  "It  must  be  won- 
derful to  do  as  one  likes — to  experiment  with 
diiferent  sorts  of  life — and  get  to  know  things 
at  first  hand." 

So  that  was  her  summing  up  concerning  me. 

I  was  one  of  those  modems  with  so  keen  a  thirst 

for  life  that  I  was  testing  it  at  all  its  springs. 

She  didn't  know  my  ultimate  intention,  but  she 

9* 


n. 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

could  sympathize  with  my  methods  and  admire 
my  courage  and  thoroughness.  Almost  in  so 
many  words  she  said  if  she  had  not  been  timid 
and  hedged  in  by  conventions  it  was  what  she 
would  have  liked  herself. 

Before  any  one  came  to  disturb  us  there  seeped 
through  her  conversation,  too,  the  reason  of 
Avenll's  coldness.    They  had  discussed  me  a 
good  deal,  and  while  he  had  nothing  to  accuse 
me  of,  he  considered  that  the  burden  of  the  proof 
of  my  mnocence  lay  with  me.     I  might  be  all 
nght— and  then  I  might  not  be.    So  long  as  there 
was  any  question  as  to  my  probity  I  was  a  per- 
son to  watch  with  readiness  to  help,  but  not 
one  to  ask  to  luncheon.    He  would  not  have  in- 
vited me  to  te-;  a  few  days  before,  and  had  al- 
lowed me  to  pass  and  repass  before  ceding  to 
his   wife's    persistence.    He   had   consequently 
been  the  more  annoyed  when  she  carried  her  cu- 
riosity to  the  point  of  bringing  me  there  that  day. 
Miss  Averill  did  not,  of  course,  say  these  things; 
die  would  have  been  amazed  to  know  that  I  in- 
ferred them.    I  shouldn't  have  inferred  them 
had  I  not  seen  her  brother  and  partially  read  his 
mmd 

But  my  hostess  came  trailing  in — ^the  verb 
IS  the  only  one  I  can  find  to  express  her  grace- 
fully lymphatic  movements — and  I  was  obliged 
to  submit  to  a  welcome  which  was  overempha- 
sized for  the  benefit  of  the  husband  who  entered 
behind  her. 

"We're  really  not  equipped  for  having  any 
93 


!l« 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

one  come  to  us,"  she  apologized.  "We're 
scarcely  unpacked.  We're  going  to  move  from 
this  house  anyhow  when  we  can  find  another. 
It's  so  poky.  If  we're  to  entertain  again—" 
She  turned  to  her  sister:  "Mildred  dear,  couldn't 
some  one  have  cleared  these  things  away?" 
Waving  her  hand  toward  the  array  of  potteries 
and  porcelains,  she  continued  to  me:  "One  buys 
such  a  lot  during  two  or  three  years  abroad, 
doesn't  one?  I'm  sure  Mrs.  Soames  must  feel 
the  way  I  do,  that  she  doesn't  know  where  to 
put  the  things  when  she's  got  them  home." 

I  knew  the  reason  for  the  reference  which  others 
were  as  quick  to  catch  as  I,  and,  in  the  idiom  of 
the  moment,  tried  to  "side-step"  it  by  saying: 

"That'<!  a  good  thing— that  Rouen  saladier. 
You  don'v  often  pick  up  one  of  that  shape  now- 
adays." 

"I  saw  it  in  an  old  shop  at  Dreux,"  Mrs.  Averill 
informed  me,  in  her  melting  tone.  "I  got  this 
pair  of  Ming  vases  there,  too.  At  least,  they  said 
they  were  Ming;  but  I  don't  suppose  they  are. 
One  is  so  taken  in.  But  I  liked  them,  whatever 
they  are,  and  so — " 

She  lift,  id  one  up  and  brought  it  to  me — a 

dead-white  jar,   decorated  with  green   foliage, 

violet-blue  f  jwers,  and  tiny  specks  of  red  fruit. 

Something  in  me  leaped.     I  took  the  vase  in 

my  hand  as  if  it  had  been  a  child  of  my  flesh  and 

blood.    I  was  far  from  thinking  of  my  hearers 

as  I  said: 

"It's  not  Ming;  but  it's  very  good  K'ang-hsi." 

94 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

I  had  thrown  another  Kttle  bomb  into  thdr 
camp,  but  It  surprised  them  no  more  than  it  did 
me.  A  trance  medium  who  hears  himself  speak- 
ing m  a  hitherto  unknown  tongue  could  not  have 
been  more  amazed  at  his  own  utterance  I 
went  on  talking,  not  to  give  them  information, 
but  to  Lsten  for  what  I  should  say  next. 

They  had  all  three  drawn  near  me.  "How 
can  you  tell?"  Miss  AveriU  asked,  partly  in  awe 
at  my  knowledge,  and  partly  to  give  me  the 
chance  to  display  it. 

"Oh,  veiy  much  as  you  can  teU  the  difference 
between  a  hat  you  wear  this  year  and  one  you 
wore  five  years  ago.  The  styles  are  quite  dif- 
ferent. Ming  corresponds  roughly  to  the  Tudor 
period  m  Enghsh  history,  and  K'ang-hsi  to  the 
earlier  Stuarts-with  much  the  same  distinction 
as  we  get  between  the  output  of  those  two  epochs. 
Mmg  is  older,  bolder,  stronger,  rougher,  with  a 
kind  of  primitive  force  in  it;  K'ang-hsi  is  the 
product  of  a  more  refined  civiKzation.  It  has 
ess  of  the  instinctive  and  more  deliberate  se- 
lection.^ It  IS  more  finished-more  self-con- 
scious.  I  picked  up  the  Rouen  salad-dish  and 
a  bevres  cup  and  saucer,  putting  them  side  by 
side.  Its  something  like  the  difference  be- 
tween  these— strength  and  color  and  dash  in 
the  one,  and  in  the  other  a  more  elaborately  per- 

WH  k"-    ^°l  Tl^-"'*  ^  '"  ''"y  doubt;  once 
M       A    '"      *  ''*'"*  °^  ***'"8  them." 
Mrs.  Averill's  question  was  as  natural  and 

spontaneous  as  laughter. 
95 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"Where  have  you  seen  them  so  much,  Mr. 
Soames?" 

"Oh,  a  little  everywhere,"  I  managed  to  reply, 
just  as  we  were  summoned  to  luncheon. 

At  table  we  talked  of  the  pleasures  of  making 
"finds"  in  old  European  cities.  I  had  evidently 
done  a  lot  of  it,  for  I  could  deal  with  it  in  general 
quite  fluently.  When  they  pinned  me  down 
with  a  question  as  to  details  I  was  obliged  to 
hedge.  I  could  talk  of  The  Hague  and  Florence 
and  Strasbourg  and  Madrid  as  backgrounds,  but 
I  could  never  picture  myself  to  myself  as  walkiifg 
in  their  streets. 

That,  however,  was  not  evident  to  my  com- 
panions, and  as  Mrs.  Averill's  interests  lay  along 
the  line  of  ceramic  art  I  was  able  to  bring  out 
much  in  the  way  of  connoisseurship  which  did 
not  betray  me.  With  Averill  himself  I  scored 
a  point;  with  Mildred  Averill  I  scored  many. 
With  Mrs.  Averill,  beneath  a  seeming  ennui  that 
grew  more  languorous,  I  quickened  curiosity  to 
the  fever-point. 

"What  a  lot  of  things  you  must  have,  Mr. 
Soames." 

My  refuge  being  always  in  the  negative,  I  >aid, 
casually:  "Oh  no!  One  doesn't  have  to  own 
things  just  because  one  admires  them." 

"But  you  say  yourself  that  you've  picked 
them  up — " 

As  she  had  nearly  caught  me  here  I  was  obliged 
to  wriggle  out.  "Oh,  to  give  away — and  that 
kind  of  thing." 

96 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Averill's  eyes  were  resting  on  me  thought- 
fully.    "Sell?" 

"No;   I've  never  sold  anything  like  that." 
„  "^''*.  ^''"'*  ^^^  use."  Mrs.  Averill  asked, 
of  canng  about  things  when  you  can't  have 
thenif    I  should  hate  it." 

"Only  that  there's  nothing  you  can't  have." 

"Do  you  hear  that,  Boyd?"  I  caught  the  im- 
pulse of  the  purring,  velvety  thing  to  vary  the 
monotony  of  hfe  by  scratching.  "Mr.  Soames 
says  there's  nothing  I  can't  have.  Much  he 
knows,  doesn't  he?" 

"There's  noth'ig  you  can't  have— within 
reason,  dear." 

"Ah,  but  I  don't  want  things  within  reason. 
I  want  them  out  of  reason.  I  want  to  be  like 
Mr.   Soames— free— free— " 

i.'v°"  '""'^  ***  ^^^^  ""^  ^  "  married  woman." 
You  can  when  you  have  a  vocation,  can't 
you,  Mr.  Soames?  I  suppose  Mr.  Soames  is  a 
married  man— and  look  at  him."  She  hurried 
beyond  this  point,  to  add:  "And  look  at  Sydna, 
whom  we  heard  the  other  afternoon!  She's  a 
married  woman  and  her  husband  lives  in  London. 
He  lets  her  sing.  He  lets  her  travel.  He  leads 
his  life  and  lets  her  .  .  .  Mr.  Soames,  what  do 
you  fhink?" 

I  said,  tactfully,  "I  shall  be  able  to  judge 
better  when  you've  sung  to  me." 

Miss  Averill,  taking  up  the  thread  of  the  con- 
versation here,  we  got  through  the  rest  of  the 
luncheon  without  treading  in  difficult  places, 
'  97 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

and  presently  I  was  alone  with  Averill,  who  was 
passing  the  cigars. 

The  constraint  which  had  partially  lifted  dur- 
ing the  conversation  at  luncheon  fell  again  with 
the  departure  of  the  ladies.  I  had  mystified 
them  more  than  ever;  and  mystery  does  not 
make  for  easy  give  and  take  in  hospitality.  To 
Averill  himself  his  hospitality  was  sacred.  To 
entertain  at  his  own  board  a  man  with  no  cre- 
dentials but  those  which  an  adventurer  might 
present  was  the  source  of  a  discomfort  that 
amounted  to  unhappiness.  He  couldn't  conceal 
it;  he  didn't  care  to  conceal  it.  While  fulfilling 
all  that  courtesy  required  of  a  host,  he  was  willing 
to  let  me  see  it.  I  saw  it,  and  could  say  nothing, 
since  he  might  easily  be  right;  and  an  adventurer 
I  might  be. 

As,  with  his  back  to  the  open  doorway  into  the 
hall,  he  sat  down  with  his  own  cigar,  I  felt  that  he 
was  saying  to  himself,  "I  wish  to  God  you  were 
not  in  this  house!"  I  myself  was  responding 
silently  by  wishing  the  same  thing. 

It  was  the  obvious  minute  at  which  to  tell 
him  everything.  I  saw  that  as  plainly  as  you  do. 
Had  I  made  a  clean  breast  of  it  I  should  have 
become  one  of  the  most  interesting  cases  of  his 
experience.  Such  instances  of  shell-shock  were 
just  beginning  to  be  talked  about.  The  term 
was  finding  its  way  into  the  newspapers  and 
garnishing  common  speech.  Though  I  knew  of 
no  connection  between  my  misfortunes  and  the 
Great  War,  I  could  have  made  shift  to  furnish 
98 


THE  THREAD  CF  FLAME 

«aSr'°" ""  ^"'^ ""-  •"'-  --« ••« 

During  a  pause  in  our  stilted  speech  I  screwed 
myself  up  to  the  point.  "There-rsomething-" 
But  his  attention  was  distract-d  for  the  mo- 
ment, and  when  it  came  back    o  me  I  could"^ 

^Tu'^"'-  ^°'  ^  ^""•<J  light  the  thine 
through  on  my  own;  but  that  would  be  my  ii"! 
mo«.    A  confession  of  breakdown  was  imp^l 

inThe"i;/c!  "fT"'  ^-  ^J"  ^.  «"■"?*«  "f  ^h"  was 
r,nn  A  ■  °^'"''  ""'"'•  ^'■-"e''  something  else 
vTRrlt  "C^r^^'y.  of  -hich  I  mus't  teU 
you  hrst.  Into  the  open  space  between  »K« 
pom^res  behind  him  th'ere  gifded  a  S C^ 
dad  ,n  amber-colored  linen,  the  monochrS 
^th  the  sun-spots  beneath  it.  She  didn't  speaT 
for  the  reason  that  AveriU  spoke  first.  ' 

♦  r  L  ^t~  ■  ^^  ""'*^''  a  match  nervouslv 
to  rdight  h,s  agar-  "you're  a-a  married  man^ 
T  ^-  '"°'t"'=K«>°n  had  to  be  my  refuge.     If 

had  married,  and  when,  and  where.  I  moke 
Zi  ""/"'.P^='«^  th"  sprang  not  from  eager- 

^uldtt^riss:^  ^-^'^"^  ^"^  ^^^  -p^^ 

"No." 

^M-.1"TT  ''"'^  '*"'^er  followed  so  swiftly 
on  Mildred  AveriU's  arrival  on  the  thrTho  d 
that  sje  caught  them  both.  Little  spa7ks  if 
gold  shone  in  the  brown  pools  of  her  eyes,  and 
her  smile  took  on  a  new  shade  of  vitaUty 
99 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"Boyd,  Lulu  wants  you  to  bring  your  cigars 
up-stairs.  The  coffee  is  there,  and  she'd  like 
to  talk  to  Mr.  Soames  about  the  old  Chinese 
things  before  she  begins  to  sing." 

He  jumped  to  his  feet.  He  was  not  less  con- 
strained, but  some  of  his  uneasiness  had  passed. 
I  could  read  what  was  in  his  mind.  If  the  worst 
came  to  the  worst  I  was  at  least  a  single  man; 
and  the  worst  might  not  come  to  the  worst. 
There  might  be  ways  of  getting  rid  of  me  before 
his  sister  ... 

He  led  the  way  up-stairs.  I  followed  with 
Miss  Averill,  saying  I  have  forgotten  what.  I 
have  forgotten  it  because,  as  we  crossed  the  low- 
ceiled  hall  with  its  monumental  bits  of  furni- 
ture, two  glean.ing  eyes  stood  over  me  like  senti- 
nels in  the  air. 


CHAPTER  X 

W^I"i^  =>„  fortnight  my  nearly  two  hun- 
dred  dollars  had  come  down  to  nearly 
c'  1?  J    ^''l'  '"  *P"'  °^  '^y  self-denials. 
n,v  i^ffi*'"?•'  ^f'^!"^  t°  ">*•     I  tnew  that  by 
my  difficulties  in  beginning  to  practise  them 

i^S  «^°"°"»«  a?  "aying  at  the  Barcelona  in- 
readv^,^'  more  luxurious  hotel,  or  as  buying 
ready-made  clothes  instead  of  waiting  for  the 
custom-made.  I  do  not  speak  of  as  self-denials! 
since  they  were  no  more  than  concessions  to  a 
temporary  lack  of  cash.     But  the  first  time  I 

tT  fi^^'^^r'^'""  °"  ''"«  ^«g  insteadof  ,.wo; 
the  first  time  I  suppressed  the  e^s  aitogether- 
the  first  time  I  lunched  on  a  cuf  of  chocotte 
l^AA*"  ""  ^°TT'  *¥  *"'  "'"<'  I  '^ent  without 
when  th^  *"' •'  °^fy  tind-these  were  occasions 
When  the  saving  of  pennies  struck  me  as  akin  to 
humiliation  I  had  formed  no  habits  to  prepare 
jne  for  it.  The  possibility  that  it  might  comfnue 
began  at  last  to  frighten  me. 

For  none  of  my  artful  methods  had  been  suc- 
cessful. I  frequented  the  hotels;  I  hung  about 
the  entrances  to  theaters;  I  tramped  the  streets 
tiU  a  new  pair  of  boots  became  a  necessity;  but 

lOI 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

no  one  ever  hailed  me  as  an  old  acquaintance. 
Once  only,  standing  in  the  doorway  of  a  great 
restaurant,  did  I  recognize  a  face;  but  it  was 
that  of  Lydia  Blair,  dining  with  a  man.  He 
was  a  big,  round-backed,  silver-haired  man,  with 
an  air  of  opulence  which  suggested  that  Miss 
Blair  might  be  taking  the  career  of  adventuress 
more  seriously  than  I  had  supposed.  Whether 
or  not  she  saw  me  I  couldn't  tell,  for,  to  avoid 
embarrassment  both  for  herself  and  me,  I  with- 
drew to  another  stamping-ground.  What  the 
young  lady  chose  to  do  with  herself  was  no  affair 
of  mine.  Since  a  pretty  girl  of  facile  temper- 
ament would  have  evident  opportunities,  it  was 
not  for  me  to  interfere  with  her.  Had  she  be- 
longed to  my  own  rank  in  life  I  might  have  been 
shocked  or  sorry;  but  every  one  knew  that  a 
beautiful  working-girl  .  .  . 

As  to  my  own  rank  in  life  a  sense  of  going  under 
false  pretenses  added  to  my  anxieties,  though  it 
was  through  no  fault  of  my  own.  Miss  Averill 
persisted  in  giving  me  the  role  of  romantic  seeker 
for  the  hard  facts  of  existence.  She  did  it  only 
by  assumption;  but  she  did  it. 

"There's  nothing  like  seeing  for  oneself,  is 
there?  It's  feeling  for  oneself,  too,  which  is 
more  important.  I'm  so  terribly  cut  off  from  it 
all.  I'm  like  a  bird  in  a  cage  trying  to  help  those 
whose  nests  are  being  robbed." 

This  was  said  during  the  second  of  the  excur- 
sions for  which  Miss  Blair  captured  me  from  the 
lobby  of  the  Barcelona.    Her  procedure  was  ex- 

102 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

actly  the  same  as  on  the  first  occasion,  except 
that  she  came  about  the  middle  of  the  aftemooh. 
Nothing  but  an  unusual  chance  found  me  sitting 
there,  idle  but  preoccupied,  as  I  meditated  on  my 
situation  while  smoking  a  cigar.  My  first  im- 
pulse  to  refuse  Miss  Averill's  invitation  point- 
blank  was  counteracted  by  the  thought  of  escape 
trom  that  daily  promenade  up  and  down  the  halls 
aL  irkionll  *°  ''*'  disheartening 

Of  this  the  novelty  had  passed.  The  ex- 
pectations that  during  the  first  week  or  two  had 
made  each  minute  a  living  thing  had  simmered 
away  in  a  sense  of  futility.  No  old  friend  having 
recognized  me  yet,  I  was  working  round  to  the 
conviction  that  no  old  friend  ever  would.  If  I 
kept  up  the  tramp  it  was  because  I  could  see 
nothing  else  to  do. 

But  on  this  particc.ar  afternoon  for  the  first 
time  I  revolted.  The  effect  was  physical,  in 
that  my  feet  seemed  to  be  too  heavy  to  be 
dragged  along  They  were  refusing  their  job, 
while  my  mind  was  planning  it. 

Thus  in  the  end  I  found  myself  sharing  the 
outing  given  nominally  for  the  blind  boyf  but 
really  planned  from  a  complication  of  motives 
whichtoMissAverillwereobscure.  Itdidnothelp 
to  make  them  clearer  that  her  wistful,  unuttered 
appeals  to  me  to  solve  the  mystery  surrounding 
™JLPe"?na''ty  passed  by  without  result. 

The  high  bank  of  an  autumn  wood,  the  Hudson 
with  a  steamer  headed  southward,  more  autumn 
103 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 


I 


woods  covering  the  hills  beyond,  a  tea-basket, 
tea — ^this  was  the  decoration.  We  had  alighted 
from  the  motor  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Tarrytown.  Tea  being  over.  Miss  Blair  and 
Drinkwater,  with  chaiF  and  laughter,  were  clear- 
ing up  the  things  and  fitting  them  back  into  the 
basket. 

"She's  very  clever  with  him,"  Miss  Averill 
explained,  as  she  led  the  way  to  a  fallen  log,  on 
which  she  seated  herself,  indicating  that  I  might 
sit  beside  her.  "She  seizes  on  anything  that  will 
teach  him  the  use  of  his  fingers,  and  makes  a 
game  of  it.  He's  very  quick,  too.  The  next  time 
he'll  be  able  to  take  the  things  out  of  the  tea-bas- 
ket and  put  them  back  all  by  himself." 

So  we  had  dropped  into  her  favorite  theme, 
the  duty  of  helping  the  helpless. 

She  was  in  brown,  as  usual,  a  brown-green,  that 
might  have  been  a  Scotch  or  Irish  homespun, 
which  blended  with  the  wine  shades  and  russets 
all  about  us  with  the  effect  of  protective  colora- 
tion. The  day  was  as  still  as  death,  so  breathless 
that  the  leaves  had  scarcely  the  energy  to  fall. 
In  the  heavy,  too-sweet  scents  there  was  sug- 
gestion and  incitement — suggestion  that  chances 
were  passing  and  incitement  to  seize  them  before 
they  were  gone. 

I  wish  there  were  words  in  which  to  convey 
the  peculiar  overtones  in  Miss  Averill's  compari- 
son of  herself  with  a  bird  in  a  cage.  There  was 
goodness  in  them,  and  amusement,  as  well  as 
something  baffled  and  enraged.  She  had  been 
104 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

so  subdued  when  I  had  seen  her  hitherto  that 
1  was  hardly  prepared  for  this  half-smothered 
outburst  of  fierceness. 

...  "If  you're  like  a  bird  in  a  cage,"  I  said,  "you're 
Uke  the  one  that  sings  to  the  worker  and  cheers 
him  up. 

Her  pleasure  was  expressed  not  in  a  chanije 
of  color  or  a  dr.  jping  of  the  lids,  but  in  a  quiet 
suffusion  that  might  most  easily  be  described  as 
atmospheric. 

"Oh,  as  for  cheering  people  up— I  don't  know. 
1  ve  tned  such  a  lot  of  it,  only  to  find  that  they 
got  along  well  enough  without  me.  A  woman 
wants  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world  to 
feel  that  she  s  needed;  and  when  she  discovers 
she  isn  t — 

The  sense  of  my  own  apparent  superfluity  in 
me  prompted  me  to  say: 
"Oh,  it  isn't  only  women  who  discover  that  " 
Her  glance  traveled  down  the  steep  wooded 

1  ?  u-..'"'"  ^''^  "^"■'  *°  '««  on  the  wine- 
colored  hills  on  the  other  side. 

"Did   you-Hlid   you   ever?"-she    corrected 

hereelf  quickly— "I  mean— do  men?" 

"Some  men  do.    It's— it's  possible." 

"Isn't  it,"  she  asked,  tackling  the  subject  in 

her  sensible  way,  "primarily  aquestion  of  money? 
If  you  have  enough  of  it  not  to  have  to  earn  a 
living— and  no  particular  duties— don't  you  find 
yourself  edged  out  of  the  current  of  life  ?  After 
all,  what  the  world  wants  is  producers;  and  the 
minute  one  doesn't  produce — " 
los 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"What  do  you  mean  by  producers?" 

She  reflected.  "I  suppose  I  mean  all  who 
contribute,  either  directly  or  indirectly,  either 
mentally  or  physically,  to  the  sum  total  of  our 
needs  in  living.    Wouldn't  that  cover  it?" 

I  admitted  that  it  might. 

"And  those  who  don't  do  that,  who  merely 
live  on  what  others  produce,  seem  to  be  excluded 
from  the  privilege  of  helpfubess." 

"I  can't  sec  that.  They  help  with  their 
money." 

"Money  can't  help,  except  indirectly.  It's 
the  great  mistake  of  our  philanthropies  to  think 
it  can.  We  make  a  great  many  mistakes;  but 
we  can  make  more  in  our  philanthropies  than  any- 
where else.  We've  never  taken  the  pains  to 
study  the  psychology  of  help.  We  think  money 
the  panacea  for  every  kind  of  need,  when  as  a 
matter  of  fact  it's  only  the  outward  and  visible 
sign  of  an  inward  and  spiritual  grace.  If  you 
haven't  got  the  grace  the  sign  rings  fabe,  like 
an  imitation  coin." 
'Well,  what  is  the  grace?" 
"Oh,  it's  a  good  many  things — a  blend— of 
which,  I  suppose,  the  main  ingredient  is  Ir.ve." 
She  gave  me  a  wistful  half-smile,  as  she  added: 
"Love  is  a  very  queer  thing— I  mean  this  kind 
of  big  love  for — ^just  for  people.  You  can  always 
tcU  whether  it's  true  or  false;  and  the  less  sophis- 
ticated the  people  the  more  instinctively  they 
know.  If  it's  true  they'll  accept  you;  if  it's  only 
pumped  up,  they'll  shut  you  out." 
io6 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

•Tm  sure  you  ought  to  know." 
1  do  know.     I've  had  a  U*  «f 
in  being  shut  out."  °'  °^  expenence- 

"You?" 

"ThevlonV  iT"''  .Drinkwater  and  Miss  Blair. 

1  hey  don  t  let  me  in.     In  spite  of  all  I  trv  to 

do  for  then,  they're  only  polite  to  me     Thev'H 

thT  '''r/'"''  °^  *'''"«'  b«  I-'n  aTfar  Jutsldl 
their  confidence-outside  their  hearts- as  a  brd 

of  neTbu^dJ^"^''  •"-•^'  ^^  ^-^^^^ 

Oh,  easily  enough!  I'm  not  the  realthine 
I  never  was-not  at  the  Settlement-not  now- 
not  anywhere  or  at  any  time." 

"I  can'r^r^-K  ^?"  ^^^,7^'  '^^  ^«^'  thing?" 
not  V  T'  ^"  ^  ','••  ^"  ^  '^"°^  is  that  I'm 
not  ,^.     I  m  not  working  for  them,  but  for  m^ 

"For  yourself— how.?" 

r«'ilf  *"  '"  ',"  ^'"P*^  '■'«•  When  you've  no 
real  life  you  seek  an  artificial  one.  As  everv  one 
^jects  the  artincial.  you  get  reject^."  That": 

se?"  ^''"''l  you  call  a  real  life-for  your- 
.   The  fierceness  with  which  she  had  been  sneak 

A  life  in  which  there  was  something  I  was 
absolute  y  ob heed  to  dn      T  k  -•  ^    , 

y  uuiigea  to  do.    1  begin  to  wonder   f 

107 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

parents  know  how  much  of  the  zest  of  living 
they're  talcing  aw;.y  from  their  children  by  leav- 
ing them,  as  we  say,  well  provided  for.  When 
there's  nothing  within  reason  you  can't  have 
and  nothing  within  reason  you  can't  do — ^well, 
then,  you're  out  of  the  running." 

"Is  that  the  way  you  look  at  yourself— as  out 
of  the  running?" 

"That's  the  way  I  am." 
"And  is  there  no  means  of  getting  into  the 
running?" 
"There  might  be  if  I  wasn't  such  a  coward." 
"If  you  weren't  such  a  coward  what  would 
you  do?" 

"Oh,  there  are  things.    You've— you  ve  found 
them.     I  would  do  like  you." 
"And  do  you  know  what  I'm  doing?" 
"I  can  guess." 
"And  you  guess — ^what?" 
"It's  only  a  guess — of  course." 
"But  what  is  it?" 

She  rose  with  a  weary  gesture.  "What's  the 
good  of  talking  about  it?  A  knight  in  disguise 
remains  in  disguise  till  he  chooses  to  throw  off 
his  incognito." 

"And  when  he  has  thrown  it  off— what  does 
he  become  then?" 

"He  may  become  something  '^Ise — but  he's — 
he's  none  the  less — a  knight." 

We  stood  looking  at  each  other,  in  one  of 
those  impulses  of  mutual  frankness  that  are  not 
without  danger. 

io8 


I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

thZ^'^ff  k- "?  '""'  ?  ''"'«''*  ^ho-^ho  couldn't 
throw  off  his  incognito?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.    "Then  I  sun- 

And  what  would  Elsa  thmk  of  that?" 
Seeing  the  implication  in  this  indiscreet  Ques- 
tion even  before  she  did.  I  felt  myself  flu?h  hotly 
I  admired  the  more,  therefore,  the  ease  S 
which  she  carried  the  difficult  moment  off     JS^'v. 
ing  a  few  steps  toward  Drinkwater  and  Miss 

threw       °  7''  l^""'''^  up  the  tea-basketrshe 
threw  over  her  shoulder: 

"If  there  was  an  Elsa  I  suppose  she'd  make 
up  her  mind  when  the  time  came."  ^* 

her  toT^:"'"  """"^"^  '""^"^  "*•="  ^  "-'"^k 

"I  wish  I  could  speak  plainly." 
^^bhe  stopped  to  glance  up  at  me.    "And  can't 

vo,'!Y!'i\^°"  *"""  '?  "  «t"«ion  which  you  felt 
you  had  to  swing  alone?    You  know  you  could 
get  help;   you  know  you  could  count  on  svrn 
pathy;   but  whenever  you're  impelled  to  ap3 
for  either  something  holds  you  back  "         ^ 
1  never  was  in  such  a  situation,  but  T  can 

I  felt  obliged  to  grant  the  permission, 
trouble?'"         "'*""  °^^^''  "  «^"^""y  "lied 

misfonune."'^ '"'"'''  "'"''^^  "  «^""^"^  "»«d 
109 


i 

l.'r 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"And  I  suppose  1  mustn't  say  so  much  as  that 
1  m  Sony." 

"You  could  say  that  much,"  I  smiled,  "if  you 
didn  t  say  any  more." 

She  repeated  the  weary  gesture  of  a  few  min- 
utes earher,  a  slight  tossing  outward  of  both 

Il,f^  '^^^  '  ^^^^  ^'^°P  against  the  sides. 
"What  a  life!" 

As  she  began  to  move  on  once  more  I  spoke 
as  I  walked  beside  her. 

"What's  the  matter  with  life?" 

Again  she  paused  to  confront  me.  In  her 
eyes  gold  lights  gleamed  in  the  brown  depths  of 
the  inses. 

"What  sense  is  there  in  a  civilization  that  cuts 
us  all  off  from  each  other?  We're  ike  prisoners 
m  solitary  confinement— you  in  one  cell  and 
Boyd  m  another  and  Lulu  in  another  and  I  in  an- 
other, and  everybody  else  in  his  own  or  her  own 
and  no  communication  or  exchange  of  help  be- 
tween  us.     It's— it's   monstrous." 

The  half-choked  passion  of  her  words  took  me 
the  more  by  surprise  for  the  reason  that  she 
treated  me  as  if  the  defects  of  our  civilization 
were  my  fault.  Joining  Lydia  Blair  and  taking 
her  by  the  arm,  she  led  the  way  back  to  the  motor, 
while  I  was  left  to  pilot  Drinkwater,  who  carried 
the  tea-basket.  During  the  drive  back  to  town 
our  hostess  scarcely  spoke,  and  not  once  to  me 
directly. 


CHAPTER  XI 

a  love-affair v^Ml  be. vf/"'"''  '^'^  complication  of 
a  love-affair  ThreateSTV"^""'^'  •>«  ^^at 
As  far  as  that  wentTir  f  ^  "°  """""  «='«"• 
to  think  of  k  r^t  loJu  f  '^''r""  °"  '"y  P«« 
water,  excent  ^  ,«  T  ^^^'^  ''*^'n  'or  Drink- 
myself.        '^    "  '°  ^"  '''  "  "Evolved  danger  to 

"sSr  "liTt  uT  *''"  i'"^''  ^''^  »°t  suggest 

Mi.L^::n'See?nL?thTt  ffaf*'"?  ^^ 
analyze  the  wav  T  «,,!..  •      •    "^^  "o  time  to 

words,  her  iZlLrLr' -'"^  '  •     ^^'8'""g  her 

more  than  tCfciLtbe'"„r-"T'  ^  "^  "<> 
at  the  feet  of  a  woodTn  m,n  "''^""8  ^^  treasures 

figment,  with^t ^^r'  LT^ '^  =''"^  "--'' 

voSmi^ k  viT*"'  '"  "^^"'"^^  -  Mal- 

pe?o7:hr«;e  on  wht  '^r.-  I*  --  the  as- 
lonely  ^neTl^t notV"'''  '"  ^''^^^'^  '"J' 
ill's  reception  of  me  on  th'^'^T'"  ^^^^  ^ver- 
-;  I  never  l"1dXg:t'it"''^hfr''' '""'=''■ 
tWrnbeingin^hehouPamlS^ris^an: 


THE  THREAD  OF  FL^vIE 

ious  to  ^t  you  out  of  it  unlike  any  other  form  of 
humiliation.  The  very  fact  that  he  refrains 
from  pointedly  showing  you  the  door  only  gives 
time  for  the  ignominy  to  sink  in.  Nothing  but 
the  habit  of  doing  certain  things  in  a  certain  way 
carried  me  through  those  two  hours  and  enabled 
me  to  tajce  my  departure  without  incivility.  On 
going  down  the  steps  the  sense  that  I  had  been 
kicked  out  was  far  more  keen  than  if  Averill  had 
given  way  to  the  actual  physical  grossness. 

Some  of  this  feeUng,  I  admit,  was  fanciful.  It 
was  due  to  the  disturbed  imagination  natural 
to  a  man  whose  mental  equipment  has  been  put 
awry.  Averill  had  been  courteous  throughout 
my  visit.  More  than  that,  he  was  by  nature 
kindly.  An}rwhere  but  in  his  own  house  his  atti- 
tude to  me  would  have  been  cordial,  and  for  any- 
thing I  needed  he  would  have  backed  me  with 
more  than  his  good-will. 

Nevertheless,  that  Sunday  rankled  as  a  poi- 
soned memory,  and  one  from  which  I  found  it 
impossible  wholly  to  dissociate  any  member  of 
his  family.  Though  I  could  blame  Mrs.  Averill 
a  little,  I  could  blame  Miss  Averill  not  at  all; 
and  yet  she  belonged  to  the  household  in  which 
I  had  been  made  to  feel  an  unwelcome  guest. 
That  in  itself  might  give  me  a  clue  to  her  senti- 
ment toward  me. 

As  I  went  on  with  my  dinner  I  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  it  did  give  me  such  a  clue.  I  was 
the  idiot  Malvolio  thinking  himself  beloved  of 
Viola.     Where  there  was  nothing  but  a  balked 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

philanthropy  I  was  looking  for  the  tender  heart. 
Ihe  dictionary  teemed  with  terms  that  appUed 
to  such  a  situation,  and  I  began  to  heap  them 
on  myself.  ^ 

I  heaped  them  on  myself  with  a  sense  not  of 
reUet,  but  of  disappointment.  That  was  the  odd 
discovery  I  made,  as  much  to  my  surprise  as  my 
chagnn.  Falling  in  love  with  anybody  was  no 
part  of  my  program.  It  was  out  of  the  question 
for  obvious  reasons.  In  addition  to  these  I  was 
m  love  with  some  one  else. 

That  is  to  say,  I  knew  I  had  been  in  love;  I 
knew  that  m  the  portion  of  my  life  that  had  be- 
come obscured  there  had  been  an  emotional 
drama  of  which  the  consciousness  remained.  It 
remained  as  a  dream  remains  when  we  remember 
the  vividness  and  forget  the  facts— but  it  re- 
mamed.  I  could  view  my  personality  some- 
what as  you  view  a  countryside  after  a  storm 
has  passed  over  it.  Without  having  witnessed 
the  storm  you  can  tell  what  it  was  from  the  havoc 
Jett  behind.    There  was  some  such  havoc  m  my- 

Just  as  I  could  look  into  the  glass  and  see 
a  face  young,  haggard,  handsome,  if  I  may  use 
the  word  without  vanity,  that  seemed  not  to  be 
mine,  so  I  could  look  into  my  heart  and  read  the 
suttering  of  which  I  no  longer  perceived  the  causes. 
It  was  like  looking  at  the  scar  of  a  wound  re- 
ceived before  you  can  remember.  Your  body 
must  have  bled  from  it,  your  nerves  must  have 
ached;  even  now  it  is  numb  or  sensit-ve;  but 
"  113 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

its  history  is  lost  to  you.  It  was  once  the  out- 
standing fact  of  your  childish  existence;  and  now 
all  of  which  you  are  aware  is  something  atro- 
phied, lacking,  or  that  shrinks  at;  a  touch. 

In  just  that  way  I  knew  that  passion  had  once 
flashed  through  my  Ufe,  but  had  left  me  nothing 
but  the  memory  of  a  memory.  I  could  trace  its 
path  almost  as  easily  as  you  can  follow  the  track 
of  a  tornado  through  a  town— by  the  wreckage 
1  mean  by  the  wreckage  an  emotional  weariness, 
an  emotional  distress,  an  emotional  distaste  for 
emotion;  but  above  eveiy thing  else  I  mean  a 
craving  to  begin  the  emotion  all  over  again. 

I  often  wondered  if  some  passional  experience 
hadn  t  caused  the  shattering  of  the  brain  cells. 
1  often  wondered  if  the  woman  I  hrd  'rved  wr.s 
not  dead.  I  wondered  if  I  might  not  even  have 
killed  her.  Was  that  the  crime  from  which  I 
was  runnmg  away?  Were  the  Furies  pursuing 
mef  Was  it  to  be  my  punishment  to  fall  in  love 
with  another  woman  and  suffer  the  second  time 
because  the  first  suffering  had  defeated  its  own 
ends  in  making  me  insensible? 

All  through  the  evening  thoughts  of  this  kind, 
now  and  then  with  a  half-feverish  turn,  ran 
through  my  mind,  till  by  the  time  I  went  to  bed 
love  no  longer  seemed  impossible.  It  was  ap- 
palhng;   and  yet  it  had  a  fascination. 

So  for  the  next  few  days  I  walked  with  a  vision 

pure,   unobtrusive,   subdued,   holy  in   its  way 

which  nevertheless  broke  into  light  and  passion 

and  flame  that  nobody  but  myself  was  probably 

114 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

aware  of.  I  abo  gleaned  from  Lydia  Blair,  who 
had  a  journalistic  facility  in  gathering  personal 
facts,  that  Mildred  AveriU's  place  in  New  York 

..^L*  "^  *'''"''  *°  ^"  opportunities, 
ihere  are  always  girls  like  that,"  Miss  Blair 
commented  'They've  got  all  the  chances  in  the 
world,  and  don  t  know  how  to  make  use  of  them, 
bhe  s  not  a  bad  looker,  not  when  you  come  to 
study  her;  and  yet  you  couldn't  show  her  off  with 
the  dressiest  models  in  New  York." 

n  !  VT/''^  A°  ^"^W^  ^^''^  ''*'°^"g  off  might 
not  be  Miss  Avenll's  ambition. 

And  a  good  thing  too,  poor  dear.  If  it  was 
It  would  be  the  hmit.  She  sure  has  the  sense  to 
know  what  she  can't  do.  That's  something. 
Look  here,  Harry,"  she  continued,  sharply,  "I 
told  yo,,  before  that  if  you're  jo.ng  to  take  letters 
down  from  the  dictaphone  you've  got  to  read 
them  through  to  the  end  before  you  beein  to 
transcnbe.  Then  you'll  know  where  the  cor- 
rections come  in.  Now  you've  got  to  go  back 
and  begin  all  over  again.  See  here,  my  dear! 
It  you  think  I  m  going  to  waste  my  perfectly 
good  time  giving  you  lessons  that  you  don't  listen 
to  you  ve  got  your  nerve  with  you." 

It  was  one  of  my  rare  visits  to  Miss  Flower- 
dew  s  dark  front  parlor,  of  which  Drinkwater  had 
the  use,  and  I  was  making  the  call  for  a  purpose. 
1  knew  there  were  certain  afternoons  when  Miss 
Blair  breezed  in,"  as  she  expressed  it,  to  give 
some  special  lesson  to  her  pupil;  and  I  had  heard 
once  or  twice  that  on  such  occasions  Miss  Averill 
"5  ' 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

too,  had  come  to  lend  him  her  encouragement. 
Nommally  she  brought  a  cylinder  from  Xh 

K^""7\'  ^°  ^°?/  **'"  '"»"*  J*"  brother 
sympathy.  Seemg  the  boy  in  such  good  hands, 
and  happy  m  h,s  lot,  I  had  the  less  compunction 
m  leaymg  h,m  alone.     I  left  him  alone,  as  I  have 

cmfM?  ,"''*\"°^  *°  l"'  i<J«ntified  more  than  I 
could  help  with  two  stenographers. 
.    My  visit  of  this  day  was  notably  successful 
jn.that  I  obtained  from  Miss  Blair  her  own  sum- 

Sy"''  '"""'  P°'"'°"  "^  ^^'^  Averill 

As  far  as  they  carried  a  fasionable  tag  it  was 
musical.  Mrs.  Averill  had  a  box  at  thf  opera 
and  was  seen  at  all  the  great  concerts.     She  en- 

llZh^f  /  u  ^'"*  "'"«""  '*"''  =•"  wandering 
celebnties  of  the  piano  and  violin.  Before  she 
went  to  Europe  she  had  begun  to  make  a  place 
In.  h^'f  r*"  ''"Sunday  afternoons,  at  which 
one  heard  the  most  renowned  artists  of  the  world 
smgmg  or  p  aying  for  friendship's  sake.  In  her 
own  special  line  she  might  by  now  have  been  one 
ot  the  most  important  hostesses  in  New  York 

b  "cLTking  rhings.""  ™""'°"'''  "''"'"'*" 
She  had  always  chucked  things  just  when  be- 
pnning  to  make  a  success  of  them.  She  had 
chucked  her  career  as  a  giri  in  good  society  in 
order  to  work  for  the  concert  stage.  She  had 
chucked  the  concert  stage  in  order  to  marry  a 
nch  man.  She  had  chucked  the  advan™ag"f  of 
ii6 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

sS  \i ''  '^'"''  1- •  r*"''"  •»  'J-^  f""  tide  of 
social    recogrition.     \nth   immense    ambitions 

to  Miss  R^'T"  -^p"^°''^'  =""^ ''°.  -«oX;' 

to  Miss  Blair,  she  was  always  "getting  left  " 
Getting  left  implied  that  as  far  as  New  York  was 
concerned  Lulu  AveriU  was  nowhere  when  The 
might  easily  have  been  somewhere,  with  a  con 

t.^V^l'^^^  ""  ''*r  •'""^^"'^  •»  compelling  him 

hekSre'anr^"'*'-  '=°"'''"°"^  ^'^  ^«ho" 
mL  Zt'<"  """'?"">'  ^°  «s«ntial  to  research. 
Miss  Blair  s  expression  was  that  the  poor  man 
never  knew  where    he    was    at.    Adoring    h's 

calt'fo^r"  ""^  "T  ''t'P'"^'^  «  »""  beck  and 
call  for  the  reason  that  he  had  long  ago  come  to 
the  knowledge  that  his  wife  didn^  fdore  him 
Holding  her  only  by  humoring  her  whTms    he 

&to"the°:  "™^^''"«  ""''   '^'  "P^  "to  Jo 
■r^  »,-^.    ?"*^^"  "3g«  again.  ^ 

To  Mildred  Averill  all  this  made  little  differ 
ence  because  she  had  none  of  the  aims  commo„T 
grouped  as  social.     Miss  Blair  understood  a,^ 
from  her  childhood  she  had  been  stud  ous  sfrious 
mng  quietly  with  her  elderly  parents  at  mS 
town,  and  acquiring  their  elderly  tastes      "I  l 
fierce  the  way  old  people  hamper  a  girl"  Lvdia 
commented      "Just  because  they're  your  fath  r 
K^'/lt^  '"i^^'^l^  =•  "^''t  to  suck  you 
was  si^eel' "  ,K  ""t'  A  ^^  "'°'^''  ^^^  ^^en  I 
tTon      "Of'  '"'''''I'  •",  ^  *°"^  °f  commenda- 

tion.      Of  course  you're  lonely-like  at  times- 

117 


f 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

but  then  you're  free."  Freedom  to  Mildred 
Ayenll,  however,  was  all  the  same  as  being  bound. 
She  didn't  know  how  to  make  use  of  liberty  or 
give  herself  a  good  time.  When  her  father  died 
she  stayed  on  with  her  mother  at  Morristown, 
and  when  the  mother  "punched  the  clock  for 
the  next  life"— the  figure  was  Miss  Blair's— she 
simply  joined  her  brother  and  sister-in-law  in 
New  York.  After  she  went  out  of  mourning 
she  was  sometimes  seen  at  a  concert  or  the  opera 
with  Mrs.  AveriU.  There  was  no  more  to  her 
social  life  than  that  and  an  occasional  dinner. 
Gray-blooded,  I  call  it,"  Miss  Blair  threw  in 
again,  "  and  a  sinful  waste  of  good  chances.  Mv  I 
ifl  had  them!" 

"Perhaps  you  can  have  them,"  I  suggested, 
Harry  Drinkwater  having  gone  for  a  minute  to 
his  room.  "Miss  Averill  told  me  one  day  that 
she  thought  of  taking  a  house  and  asking  you  to 
hve  with  her." 

"Me?    Do  you  see  me  playing  second  fiddle 
to  a  girl  as  sure  bound  to  be  an  old  maid  .s  I'm 
bound  to  be — " 
"An  adventuress." 

"I'm  bound  to  be  an  adventuress — if  I  like." 
"Oh,  then  there's  a  modification  to  your  pro- 
gram.   The  last  time  we  talked  about  it  you 
were  going  to  do  it.     Now  it's  only— if  you 
uke." 

Her  lovely  blue  eyes  shot  me  a  look  of  protest. 
You  wouldn't  want  me  to  do  it— if  I  didn't  like. 
The  worst  of  being  an  adventuress  is  the  kind 
ii8 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

of  guys  you  must  adventure  with.    You  don^t 
mean  to  thrust  them  down  my  throat." 

"Mm  not  urging  you  at  all.     I  did  hapDen 

She  nodded.    "I  saw  you.    What  were  you  do- 

"How  ^      °"  ^"  '  i''^  =>*  P'^«^  Hke  that^ 

How  do  you  know  I  don't" 
"Well,  I  don't  know.    That's  just  the  trouble 
Sometimes  I  think  you're  a—"  "ou^ie. 

"I'm  a— what.?" 

knowit?''"'    Y°"  8ive  me  the  creeps.    Do  you 

"How?" 
^J'Well,  you  saw  that  guy  I  was  with  at  the 

."Looked  like  a  rich  fathead." 
Yes;    but  you   know   he's  a  rich  fathead 
He  s  as  dear  as  a  glass  of  water.    You're  like"- 
th^'miS  k"  '  ^-i'-7"you're  Hke  something 
if  PO.W'    qh'  '"'^'f-^'^'^  •"ight  be  a  dosf 
pt  poison.       She  turned  on  me  wth  a  new  flash 
m  her  blue  eyes.    "Look  here!    Tell  me  honest 
now     Are  you  a  swell  crook-^r  ain^ySu"  •   ' 
Suppose  I  say  that-that  I  ain't." 
i>ay,  kid!    she  responded,  coldly,   "talk  like 
yourself,  will  you?"    She  threw  her  hands  apart 
pahns  outward.     "Well,  if  you're  not  a  Si 
crook  I  can't  make  you  out " 

Why  do  you  keep  hanging  round  Miss  Aver- 
io  gefb/S?.^'""'^-     "^"^  '^  3^-  -P- 
"9 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"What  do  you  expect  to  get  by  asking  me ?" 
Her  reply  was   a   kind  of  challenge.     "The 
truth.     Do  you  know  it?" 

I  felt  uncomfortable.  It  was  one  of  the  rare 
occasions  on  which  I  had  seen  this  flower-like  face 
drop  Its  bantering  mask  and  grow  serious.  The 
voix  de  Montmartre  had  deepened  in  tone  and  put 
me  on  the  defensive. 

"I  thought  you  told  me  on  board  ship  that 
you  looked  on  all  people  of  Miss  Averill's  class 
as  the  prey  of  those  in — in  ours." 

"I  don't  care  what  I  told  you  on  board  ship. 
You  re  to  keep  where  you  belong  as  far  as  she's 
concerned— or  I'll  give  the  whole  bloomin'  show 
away,  as  they  say  in  English  vawdville." 
"There  again;  it's  what  you  said  you  wouldn't 
<■<  ,         ^^''^  ^°"'*'  ^^  ^y  friend—" 
"I'll  be  your  friend  right  up  to  there— but 
that  s  the  high-water  mark." 
«Tf  •*''°"^''*  ^^  permissible  to  change  my  front. 
If  It  comes  to  that,  I've  done  no  hanging  round 
Miss   Avenll   on    my   own    account.     It's   you 
who  ve  come  for  me  to  the  Hotel  Barcelona  every 
time — "  ' 

"Harry  made  me  do  that;  but  even  so— well, 
you  don't  have  to  fall  in  the  water  just  because 
you  re  standing  on  a  wharf" 

"It  doesn't  hurt  the  water  if  you  do.  You 
can  get  soaked,  and  make  yourself  look  ridicu- 
lous, but  the  beautiful  blue  sea  doesn't  mind." 

"You  can  make  it  splash  something  awful, 
and  send  npples  all  over  the  lot.     Don't  you  be 

120 


S^'e'er  Tdf  Z  t^  "  "'"  "=''\'"  •>"  '''"^  eyes.    "Look 
or  ain't  you?  '    ^'luZ^V'''-  J^''  l^""  ^  ^^e"  """k- 


ii 


1 1 


P'). 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

too  sure  of  not  being  dangerous.  You  wouldn't 
be  everybody's  choice — but  you  have  that  ro- 
mantic way — like  a  prince-guy  off  the  level — 
and  she  not  used  to  men — or  having  a  lot  of  them 
around  her  all  the  time,  like — " 

"Like  you." 

"Like  me,"  she  accepted,  composedly;  "and 
so  if  I  see  anything  that's  not  on  the  square  I'U^ — 
I'll  hand  out  the  right  dope  about  you  without 
the  least  pity." 

"And  when  you  hand  out  the  right  dope  about 
me  what  will  it  be?" 

"You  poor  old  kid,  what  do  you  think  it  will 
be?  If  you  make  people  think  you're  a  swell 
crook  it's  almost  the  same  as  being  one." 

"But  do  I  make  people  think  I'm  a  swell 
crook?" 

"You  make  me." 

"What  do  I  do  to—" 

"It's  not  what  you  do,  it's  what  you  don't 
do — or  what  you  don't  say.  Why  don't  you  tell 
people  who  you  are,  or  what  your  business  is, 
or  where  you  come  from  ?  Everybody  can  hitch 
on  to  something  in  a  world,  but  you  don't  seem 
to  belong  anywhere.  If  any  one  asks  you  a 
question  it's  always  No  I  Not  No  I  till  you 
can  tell  what  your  answer  will  be  beforehand. 
Surely  there's  a  Yes  somewhere  in  your  life! 
If  you  always  hide  it  you  can't  blame  people  for 
thinking  there's  something  to  be  hidden." 

"And  yet  you'd  be  my  friend." 

"Oh,  I've  been  friends  to  worse  than  that. 
Ill 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

I  wasn't  bom  yesterday— not  by  a  lot.  All  I 
say  IS,  Hands  off  little  old  Milly  AveriU!'  but 
tor  the  rest  you  can  squeak  along  in  your  own 
way.  1  m  a  good  sort.  I  don't  interfere  with 
any  one. 

Drinkwater  being  on  the  threshold  and  the 
conversation  having  yielded  me  all  I  hoped  to 
get,  1  made  an  excuse  for  going.  Miss  Averill 
had  not  appeared,  and  now  I  was  glad  of  it 
Had  she  come  I  could  not  have  met  her  under 
1-ydia  s  cold  eye  without  self-consciousness.  It 
began  to  stnke  me,  too.  that  the  best  thing  I  could 
do  was  to  step  out  from  the  circle  of  all  their  Uves 
and  leave  no  clue  behind  me. 


CHAPTER  XII 

IT  was  not  a  new  reflection,  as  you  know;  and 
ot  late  It  had  been  growing  more  insistent. 
1  he  truth  IS  that  I  needed  to  find  work.  My 
nearly  one  hundred  dollars  was  melting  away 
with  unbehevable  rapidity.  Expenses  being  re- 
duced to  a  rule  of  thumb,  I  could  count  the  days 
after  which  I  shouldn't  have  a  cent.  Winter 
was  coming.  Already  there  were  mornings  with 
the  nip  of  frost  m  them.  I  should  require  boots, 
clothes,  warm  things  of  all  sorts.  Food  and 
shelter  I  couldn't  do  without. 

It  was  the  incredible,  the  impossible.  Neb- 
uchadnezzar driven  from  men  and  eating  grass 
Uke  an  ox  couldn't  have  been  more  surprised  to 
see  himself  in  such  a  state  of  want.  Some- 
where, out  of  the  memories  that  had  not  dis- 
appeared, I  drew  the  recollection  that  to  need 
boots  and  not  be  able  to  afford  them  had  been 
my  summary  of  an  almost  inhuman  degree  of 
poverty.  I  could  remember  trying  to  picture 
what  It  would  be  like  to  find  myself  in  such  a 
situation  and  not  being  able  to  do  so.  I  had 
bought  a  new  pair  since  coming  to  New  York, 
and  they  were  already  wearing  thin. 
1*3 


I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

It  came  to  me  again — it  came  to  me  constantly, 
of  course— that  I  could  save  myself  by  going  to 
some  sympathetic  person  and  telling  him  my  tale. 
I  rejected  now  the  idea  of  making  Boyd  AveriU 
my  confidant;  but  there  were  other  possibilities. 
There  were  doctors,  clergymen,  poliLemen.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  people  who  suffered  from  am- 
nesia, an  J  who  didn't  know  their  names,  generally 
applied  to  the  police. 

In  the  end  I  opted  for  a  clergyman  as  being 
the  most  human  of  these  agencies.  Vaguely  I 
was  aware  that  vaguely  I  belonged  to  a  certain 
church.  I  had  tested  myself  along  the  line  of 
religion  as  well  as  along  other  lines,  with  the  dis- 
covery til  at  the  services  of  one  church  were  fa- 
miliar, vMie  those  of  others  were  not. 

From  the  press  I  learned  that  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Scattlethwaite,  the  head  of  a  large  and  wealthy 
congregation,  was  perhaps  the  best  known  ex- 
ponent in  New  York  of  modem  scientific  benef- 
icence, and  by  attendance  at  one  of  his  services 
I  got  the  information  that  at  fixed  hours  of  every 
day  he  was  in  his  ofiSce  at  his  parish  house  foi 
the  purpose  of  meeting  those  in  trouble.  It  was 
a  simple  matter,  therefore,  to  present  myself, 
and  be  met  on  the  threshold  of  his  waiting-room 
by  the  young  lady  who  acted  as  his  secretary. 

She  was  a  portly  young  lady,  light  on  her  feet, 
quick  in  her  movements,  dressed  in  black,  with 
blond  fluffy  hair,  and  a  great  big  welcoming  smile. 
The  reception  was  much  the  same  as  in  any 
doctor's  office,  and  I  think  she  diagnosed  my 


11  ' 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

complamt  as  the  drug  habit.  Asking  me  to  take 
a  seat  she  assured  me  that  Doctor  Scattiethwaite 
would  see  me  as  soon  as  he  was  disengaged. 
When  she  had  returned  to  her  desk,  where  she 
seemed  to  make  endless  notes,  I  had  leisure  to 
look  about  me. 

Except  for  a  large  white  wooden  cross  between 
two  doors.  It  might  have  been  a  waiting-room  in 
a  hospital.  Something  in  the  atmosphere  sug- 
gested people  meeting  agonies— or  perhaps  it  was 
something  m  myself.  As  far  as  that  went,  there 
were  no  particular  agonies  in  the  long  table 
strewn  with  illustrated  papers  and  magazines, 
nor  in  the  bookrack  containing  eight  or  ten  well- 
thumbed  novels.  .Neither  were  agonies  sug- 
gested by  the  Arundel  print  of  the  Resurrection 
on  one  bit  of  wall-space,  nor  by  the  large  framed 
photograph  of  the  Arch  of  Constantine  on 
another.  All  the  same  there  was  that  in  the  air 
which  told  one  that  no  human  being  in  the  world 
would  ever  come  into  this  room  otherwise  than 
agamst  his  will. 

And  yet  in  that  I  may  be  wrong,  considering 
how  many  people  there  are  who  enjoy  the  luxury 
of  sorrow.  I  guessed,  for  example,  that  the  well- 
dressed  woman  in  mourning  who  sat  diagonally 
opposite  me  was  carrying  her  grief  to  every  pastor 
m  New  York  and  refusing  to  be  comforted  by 
any.  Another  woman  in  mourning,  rusty  and 
cheap  m  her  case,  flanked  by  two  vacant-eyed 
children,  had  evidently  come  to  collect  a  portion 
ot  the  huge  financial  bill  she  was  able  to  present 
IIS 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

against  fate.  An  extremely  thin  lady,  with 
eyes  preternaturally  wide  open,  was  perhaps  a 
sufferer  from  insomnia,  while  the  httle  old  man 
with  broken  boots  and  a  long  ted  nose  was  plsdnly 
an  ordinary  "  bum."  These  were  my  companions 
except  that  a  beaming  lady  of  fifty  or  so,  dressed 
partly  like  a  Salvation  Army  lassie  and  partly 
like  a  nun,  and  whom  I  took  to  be  Doctor 
Scattlethwaite's  deaconess  en  litre,  bustled  in 
and  out  for  conferences  with  the  fluffy-haired 
girl  at  the  desk. 

I  beguiled  the  waiting,  which  was  long  and 
tedious,  by  co-ordinating  my  tale  so  as  to  get  the 
main  points  into  salience.  It  was  about  ten  in 
the  morning  when  I  arrived,  and  around  half 
past  ten  the  lady  who  had  first  claim  on  Doctor 
Scattlethwaite  came  out  from  her  audience. 
She  was  young  and  might  have  been  pretty  if 
she  hadn't  been  so  hollow-eyed  and  walked  with 
her  handkerchief  pressed  closely  to  her  Ups.  I 
put  her  down  as  a  case  of  nervous  prostration. 

The  lady  with  the  inconsolable  sorrow  was  next 
summoned  by  the  secretary,  and  so  one  after 
another  those  who  had  preceded  me  went  in  to 
tal'e  their  turns.  Mine  came  after  the  old 
"bum,"  when  it  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock. 

The  room  was  a  kind  of  Ubrary.  I  retain  an 
impression  of  books  Uning  the  walls,  a  leather- 
covered  lounge,  one  or  two  leather-covered  easy- 
chairs,  and  a  large  flat-topped  desk  in  the  center 
of  the  floor-space.  Behind  the  desk  stood  a 
short,  square-shouldered  man  in  a  dark-gray 
126 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

.  ^^  y°"'ve  come  to  me  for  advke  as  to  tK- 
wise  thmg  for  vou  to  An.  "  U^         ""«  as  to  the 

127 


il  ' 


I   I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"What  would  he  do?"  I  ventured  to  question, 

"That  would  depend  on  whether  or  not  you 
could  pay  for  treatment.  I  presume,  from  what 
you've  said  of  your  funds  giving  out,  that  you 
couldn't." 

"No,  I  couldn't,"  I  assented,  reddemng. 

"Then  he'd  probably  put  you  for  observation 
into  the  free  psychopathic  ward  at  Mount  Oli- 
vet-" 

"Is  that  an  insane-asylum?" 

"We  don't  have  insane-asylums  nowadays; 
but  in  any  case  it  isn't  what  you  mean.  It's 
a  sanitarium  for  brain  diseases — " 

"I  shouldn't  want  to  go  to  a  place  like  that." 

"Then  what  would  you  suggest  doing?" 

"I  thought — "  But  I  was  not  sure  as  to 
what  I  had  thought.  Hazily  I  had  imagined 
some  Christian  detective  agency  hunting  up  my 
family,  restoring  my  name,  and  giving  me  back 
my  check-book.  It  was  probably  on  the  last 
detail  that  unconsciously  to  myself  I  was  laying 
the  most  emphasis.  "I  thought,"  I  stammered, 
after  a  sHght  pause,  "that— that  you  might  be 
inclined  to — to  help  me." 

"With  money?" 

The  question  was  so  direct  as  to  take  me  by 
surprise. 

"I  didn't  know  exactly  how—" 

"An  average  of  about  fifteen  peopie  come  to 
see  me  every  day,"  he  said,  in  his  calm,  business- 
like voice,  "and  of  the  fifteen  about  five  are  men. 
And  of  the  five  men  an  average  of  four  come, 
128 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
with  one  plausible  tale  or  other  to  d«.  « 
out  of  me  under  false  pretenses:"      *"  """'^ 

and  his  su^ave. '^t  S^J^V^ "'  jf,''-  ^^'^ 
quietly,  as  I  sank  back  into^Z'chaS  "f^  ^ 
want  you  to  see  that  with  al^m.^  u  '^"'^ 
telling  me  strange  tales  mv  fi  •"^".^''o  come 
suspicion."        ^  "^  ^"^  "»P"'«'  niust  be 

Indignation   almost   strangled   me     "AnA 
and-am  I  to  understand  that--S«  it', 
picion— nowf"  ™"  "*  s"s- 

But  everythmg  u  explained." 
to  mTne.^?"  ""*f=»«-n-possibly;   but  haidly 

tor7i'o"your"  "''''""'"°"  ^""^'^  ^e  satisfac 

to'iut'y^rirdeT&or  SC  ^'"'  ''^i'"!!" 
be,  able  to  offer  some  SSSS"^""  "^''^ 

^y^lp^  hLrd^:^7mS?  '"Xff ^ 
people  I  know  would  be  as  .„?,  J  V  ""^  '^'^ 
are."  *  incredulous  as  you 

"I  don't  say  that  I'm  incredulous-   T'™      i 

"  Biitrf    ?°"'^  ^-  -eT  I  ha've  ,"  be  ^ 

"I  wish  I  cLd"[i?„rToVb«  ?r-:  ,•  . 

- -any  false  yan,s  on  the^nriJ^fta^l 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

manner,  and  disbelieved  so  many  true  ones  on 
the  same  evidence,  that  I  no  longer  trust  my 
own  judgment.  But  please  don't  be  annoyed. 
If  your  mental  condition  is  such  as  you  describe, 
I'm  proposing  the  most  scientific  treatment  you 
can  get  in  New  York.  In  addition  to  that,  I 
know  that  Doctor  Glegg  has  had  a  number  of 
such  cases  and  has  cured  them." 

"You  know  that?" 

"Perhaps  I  ought  to  say  that  they've  been 
cured  while  under  his  care.  I  think  I've  heard 
him  say  that  as  a  matter  of  fact  they've  cured 
themselves.  Without  knowing  much  of  the 
malady,  I  rather  think  it's  one  of  those  in  which 
time  restores  the  ruptured  tissues,  with  the  aid 
of  mental  rest." 

"If  that's  all—" 

"Oh,  I  don't  say  that  it's  all;  but  as  far  as 
I  understand  it's  a  large  part  of  it.  ^  But  then 
I  don't  understand  very  much.  That's  why  I'm 
suggesting—" 

"I  could  get  mental  rest  of  my  cm  accord 

if-" 

"Yes?    If— what?" 

"If  I  could  find  out  who— who  I  am. 

"And  you've  no  clues  at  all?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Have  you  heard  no  names  that  were  famiUar 

to  you—?"  , .  ,  T        ij 

"Scores  of  them;  but  none  with  which  I  could 

connect  myself." 
"And  did  you  think  I  could  find  out  for  you 
130 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
-hat  you  yourself  have  not  been  able  to  db- 

mi."'"'*  ^"^  ''"*  ''''«  you  nught  have 
"What  means  could  T  h-,vt,f    «„  r  Tf 

graphs  thrown  ?„'reei^hat''^';:V.t^" 
I  don't  think  there's  any  o^r  wayT     ^  *•""«• 

poL^ft^e^pSS^^^^^ 

seemed  to  magnify  „,y„i,j;;„f'   '"^^   they 

g^Mgotyoutopuf;::Ltfft£'DS« 

"In  the  free   psychopathic  warW  «f  - 
tanum  for  diseases  ^ftheVab-^^fbe  ItVed"" 
ence/°    *  ""*•"  observation.    Them's  a  difft- 

tell  ^t  GSTre'thfn'  r"  T"""'^ 
now."  *^      ""^^  *'''"  I""  telhng  you 

"Oh  yes,  it  would.      It  would  t.ll  u- 

b^t-KtS^^r--"^^^^ 

or  not  your  sto^.  is  a  t^e  one."     "^^''"ber 
^^^o  you  don't  believe  me?" 

ibist:  in"teiJ:'r  ^°"  °"  *^«  «-«th  of 

»3I 


il 


I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"But  how  could  I  convince  you  in  a  dozen 
interviews?" 

"You  couldn't.  Nothing  would  convince  me 
but  something  in  the  way  of  outside  proof — or 
Doctor  Glegg's  report." 

I  rose,  not  as  I  did  before,  but  slowly,  and  I 
hoped  with  dignity. 

"Then  I  see  no  reason,  sir,  for  taking  your 
time  any  longer — " 

He  too  rose,  business-like,  imperturable. 

"My  dear  young  man,  I  must  leave  that  to 
you.  My  time  is  entirely  at  your  disposal  and 
all  my  good-will." 

"Thanks." 

"And  I'll  go  as  far  as  to  say  this,  that  I  think 
the  probabilities  are  in  your  favor.  I  will  even 
add  that  if  I  hadn't  thought  so  in  a  hundred  other 
cases,  in  which  men  whom  I  pitied — trusted — 
and  aided — were  making  me  a  dupe —  You 
see,  I've  been  at  this  thing  a  good  many  years — " 

Managing  somehow  to  bow  myself  out,  I  _^t 
into  the  air  again.  I  attributed  my  wrath  to 
the  circumstances  of  not  being  taken  at  my  word; 
but  the  real  pang  lay  in  the  thought  of  being 
watched,  as  a  type  of  mild  lunatic  and  a  pauper. 


CHAPTER  I 

I  HAD  made  this  experiment  as  a  concession 
to  what  you  will  consider  common  sense, 
iiver  suice  landmg  in  New  York  the  idea  that  the 
natural  thing  to  do  was  to  make  my  situation 
known  had  haunted  me.  Well,  I  had  made  it 
known,  much  agamst  the  grain,  with  results  such 
as  1  had  partly  expected.  I  had  laid  myself 
open  to  the  semi-accusation  of  trumping  up  a 
cock-and-bull  story  to  get  money  under  false 
pretences. 

,  ,^°."**  ?"*  "^""'^  •>«'?  «ne  but  myselfl  I  had 
felt  that  from  the  first,  and  now  I  was  confirmed 
ui  the  convicuon.  It  was  useless  either  to  com- 
plain or  to  rebel  Certain  things  were  to  be 
done,  and  no  choice  remained  with  me  but  to  do 
them  m  the  heartiest  way  possible.  I  had  the 
witto  see  that  the  heartier  the  waythemore  likely! 
was  to  attain  to  the  mental  rest  which  was  ap- 
parently a  condition  of  my  recovery. 

From  this  point  of  view  work  became  even 
more  pressing  than  before,  and  I  searched  my- 
self for  thmgs  that  I  could  do. 

Of  all  my  experiences  this  was  the  most  baffling 
In  the  same  way  that  I  knew  I  had  enjoyed  a 
generous  mcome  I  knew  I  had  never  been  an 
»3S 


iff 


I'! 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

idler.  That  is,  I  knew  it  by  the  habit  of  a  habit. 
I  had  the  habit  of  a  habit  of  occupation.  I  got 
up  each  morning  with  a  sense  of  things  to  do. 
Finding  nothitig  to  be  done,  I  felt  thwarted,  irri- 
tated, uneasy  in  the  conscience.  I  must  always 
have  worked,  even  if  pay  had  not  been  a  matter 
of  impotance. 

But  what  had  I  worked  at?  I  had  not  been 
a  doctor,  nor  a  lawyer,  nor  a  clergyman,  nor  a 
banker,  nor  a  merchant,  nor  a  manufacturer,  nor 
a  teacher,  nor  a  journalist,  nor  a  writer,  nor 
a  painter,  nor  an  actor,  nor  a  sculptor,  nor  a  civil 
engineer.  All  this  was  easy  to  test  by  the  things 
I  didn't  know  and  couldn't  do.  I  could  ride  and 
drive  and  run  a  motor-car.  I  had  played  tennis 
and  golf  and  taken  an  interest  in  yachting  and 
aviation.  I  could  not  say  that  I  had  played 
polo,  but  I  had  looked  on  at  matches,  and  had 
also  frequented  horse-races.  These  facts  came 
to  me  not  so  much  as  memories,  but  as  part  of 
a  general  epuipment.  But  I  could  find  no  sense 
of  a  profession.  . 

Throwii  back  on  the  occupations  I  can  only 
class  as  nondescript,  I  began  looking  for  a  job. 
That  is,  I  began  to  study  the  advertised  lists  of 
"Wants"  in  the  hope  of  finding  some  one  in 
search  of  the  special  line  of  aptitude  implied  by 
cultivation.  I  had  some  knowledge  of  books, 
of  pictures,  of  t  ipestries,  of  prints.  Music  was 
as  familiar  to  me  as  to  most  people  who  have 
sat  through  a  great  many  concerts,  and  I  had 
followed  such  experiments  as  those  of  the  Abbey 
136 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Sstlrw    '^""'"  '"•'  "^i"  HomJman's  Man- 
Chester  Players  in  connection  with  the  stage 

Unfortunately,  there  was  no  clamor  for  these 
accomplishments  in  the  press  of  New  York  and 
the  neighboring  cities,  the  end  of  a  week's  study 
finding  me  just  where  I  began.     For  chauffeurs 

of  my  order  of  attainment  there  were  none  I 
thought  of  what  Mildred  AveriU  had  said  du  ing 
our  last  conversation:  «u  uuring 

anj'iC""  '"'  '^''"  ^^^  "^^'^^  *='"*»  «  producers; 
and  the  moment  one  doesn't  produce-" 

said  ^  "'m'^""  '•'T  '>«==»'*«  »»  '"'d  »>«:n 
re^l  .  •  ^°']^  ''='"**'^  producers  and  was 
ready  to  give  them  work.  It  would  also  give 
them  pay,  after  a  fashion.  One  producer  mSht 
get  much  and  another  little,  but  even^  one  would 
get  something.  The  secret  of  getting  most  e^- 
dentj.  lay  in  p^ducing  the  thing  moft  reqdrel 

defineTr  i  *"*''  ^''f  ^^^"'^  Averill  had 
dehned  the  producer  as  he  seemed  to  her-    "I 

e«ror  ;„^""  ?"  ""^t  ~«ribute,  either  di- 

callv  to  th  '"'^'  r^'  "•^""">'  *>'  P^yoi- 
cauy,  to  the  sum  total  of  our  needs  in  living  " 

1  here  again,  the  more  vital  the  need,  the 

analyzed  them  were  mostly  elementary.  The 
rnore  elemental  you  were,  the  closer  you  lived 
to  the  stratum  the  world  couldn't  do  without. 
I  hat  stratum  was  basic;  it  was  Dedrock.  Wher- 
ever  you  went  you  had  to  walk  on  it.  and  not  on 
mountam-peaks  or  in  the  air. 


Ill 


ill  I 
ili'i  i 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

I  was  not  pleased  with  these  deductions.  It 
seemed  to  me  a  gross  thing  in  life  that  salesmen 
and  chauiFeurs  should  be  more  in  demand  than 
men  who  could  tell  you  at  a  glance  the  difference 
between  a  Henri  Deux  and  a  Jacobean  piece  of 
furniture,  or  explain  the  weaves  and  designs  of 
a  Flemish  tapestry  as  distinguished  from  a  Gobe- 
lin or  an  Aubusson.  I  was  eager  to  prove  my 
qualifications  for  a  place  in  life  to  be  not  without 
value.  To  have  nothing  to  do  was  bad  enough, 
but  to  be  unfit  to  do  anything  was  to  be  in  a  state 
of  imbecility. 

So  I  made  several  attempts,  of  which  one  will 
serve  as  an  instance  of  all. 

Walking  in  Fifth  Avenue  and  attracted  by  the 
shop  windows,  I  couldn't  help  being  struck  by 
New  York's  love  of  the  antique.  To  me  the 
antique  was  familiar.  Boyd  Averill  had  asked 
me  if  I  hadn't  sold  it.  I  had  said  I  hadn't — 
but  why  not?  Beauty  surely  entered  into  the 
sum  total  of  needs  in  living,  and  I  had,  moreover, 
often  named  it  to  myself  as  the  thread  of  flame 
by  which  I  should  find  my  way. 

All  the  same,  it  required  some  effort  to  walk 
into  any  of  these  storehouses  of  the  loot  of  castles 
and  cathedrals  and  offer  my  services  as  judge  and 
connoisseur.  On  the  threshold  of  three  I  lost 
my  courage  and  stepped  back.  It  was  only  after 
stoppin^  before  a  fourth,  the  window  severely 
simple  with  three  ineffable  moon-white  jars  set 
against  a  background  of  violet  shot  with  black, 
that  I  reasoned  myself  into  taking  the  step.  It 
138 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

p™"&  cSi„"/^  f-;r:l  ,x^^- ""' 

You  wish — ?" 
shonU  1"°*  <:«n«dered  the  words  in  which  I 

here!"  *       ^^  ™Sht  be  of-of  some  use 

139 


!! 


T 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

The  faint  smile  faded,  but  the  composutc  re- 
mained as  before. 

"Some— what?" 

"Use.  I — I  understand  these  things.  That 
tea-service,  now,  it's  Rockingham  or  Nantgarw, 
possibly  Chelsea.  The  three  moon-white  jars 
in  the  window,  two  of  them  gourd-shaped — " 

"Did  you  want  to  look  at  them?" 

||No,"  I  blurted  out,  "to— to  sell  them." 

"Sell  them?  How  do  you  mean?  We  mean 
to  sell  them  ourselves." 

"But  don't  you  ever — ever  need — what  shall 
I  call  it — an  extra  hand?  Don't  you  ever  have 
a  place  for  that?" 

She  grew  nervous,  and  yet  not  so  nervous  as 
to  lose  the  power  of  keeping  me  in  play. 

"Oh  yes!  Certainly!  An — an  extra  hand! 
I'll  call  Mr.  Chessland.  Mr.  Chessland !  Please 
— please—come  here.  Lovely  day,  isn't  it?" 
she  continued,  as  a  short,  thick-set  figure  came 
waddling  from  the  back  of  the  premises.  "We 
don't  often  have  such  lovely  weather  at  this  time 
of  year,  though  sometimes  we  do — we  do  very 
often,  don't  we?  You  never  can  tell  about 
weather,  can  you?" 

_  Mr.  Chessland,  who  was  more  Armenian  than 
his  name,  having  come  near  enough  to  keep  an 
eye  on  me,  she  fell  back  toward  him,  whispering 
something  to  which  he  replied  only  in  panto- 
mime. Only  in  pantomime  he  replied  to  me, 
pursing  his  rosy,  thick  lips,  and  lifting  his  hands, 
palms  outward,  as  in  some  form  of  Oriental  sup- 
140 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

plication,  pushing  me  with  repeated  gestures 
back  toward  the  door.  I  went  back  toward 
the  door  in  obedience  to  the  frightened  little  fat 
man  s  urge,  since  I  was  as  terrified  as  he.  Though 
1  was  out  on  the  pavement  again  the  door  didn't 
close  tiU  I  heard  the  giri  ask,  in  an  outburst  of 
reliet: 

"Do  you  think  he  was  nervy,  or  only  off  his 

It  came  to  me  slowly  that  a  man  in  search  of 
work  IS  somehow  the  object  of  suspicion.  The 
whole  world  being  so  highly  mechanized,  it  ad- 
nuts  of  no  oose  screw.  The  loose  screw  ob- 
viously hasn't  fitted;  and  if  it  hasn't  fitted  in 
the  place  for  which  it  was  made  it  is  unlikely  to 
fit  m  another. 

Furthermore,  a  man  is  so  impressionable  that 
he  quickly  adopts  of  himself  the  view  that  others 
take  of  him.    Going  about  from  shop  to  shop, 
bnnging  my  simple  guile  to  bear  first  on  one 
smooth-spoken    individual    and    then    another, 
only  in  die  end,  in  the  phrase  once  used  to  me. 
to  get  the  gate,"  I  shrank  in  my  own  esrimarion. 
1  he  gate  seemed  all  I  was  fit  for.    I  began  to  see 
niyself  as  going  out  through  an  endless  succession 
of  gates,  expelled  by  hands  like  Mr.  Chessland's. 
but  never  welcomed  within  one.     For  a  man 
who  had  instinctively  the  habit  of  rating  him- 
self  with  the  best,  of  picking  and  choosing  his 
own  company,  of  ignoring  those  who  didn't  suit 
him  as  if  they  had  never  existed,  the  revolution 
ot  teelmg  was  curious. 

'♦I 


lil 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Then  I  discovered  that  one  point  of  contact 
with  organized  society  had  been  also  removed. 

Early  in  £>ecember  I  went  to  look  up  Drink- 
water,  whom  I  hadn't  seen  for  a  month.  It 
was  not  friendliness  that  sent  me;  it  was  loneli- 
ness. Day  after  day  had  gone  by,  and  except 
for  the  people  to  whom  I  applied  for  work  I 
hadn't  spoken  to  any  one. 

True,  I  had  been  busy.  In  addition  to  look- 
ing for  a  job  I  had  written  articles  for  the  press 
and  had  made  strenuous  efforts  to  secure  a  place 
as  French  teacher  in  a  boys'  school.  This  I 
think  I  should  have  got  had  I  been  actually 
French;  but  when  the  decision  was  made  a  native 
Frenchman  had  turned  up  and  been  given  the 
preference.  As  for  my  articles,  some  of  them 
were  sent  back  to  me,  and  of  the  rest  I  never 
heard.  So  I  had  been  less  lonely  than  I  might 
have  been,  even  if  my  occupations  had  brought 
me  no  success. 

In  addition  to  that  I  had  refrained  from  visit- 
ing the  blind  boy  from  a  double  motive:  there 
was  first  the  motive  that  was  always  present, 
that  of  not  wishing  to  continue  the  acquaintance 
of  people  outside  my  class  in  life;  then  there 
was  the  reason  that  I  was  anxious  now  to  avoid 
a  possible  chance  meeting  with  Miss  Averill. 

I  could  easily  have  been  in  love  with  her. 
There  was  no  longer  a  question  about  that.  It 
must  be  remembered  that  I  was  appallingly 
adrift— and  she  had  been  kind  to  me.  I  had  been 
grotesque,  suspected,  despised— and  she  had  been 
142 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

lind  to  me.  She  had  gone  out  of  her  way  to 
be  kind  to  me;  she  had  been  sisterly;  she  had 
been  tender.  Something  that  was  of  value  in 
me  which  no  one  else  had  seen,  she  had  seen 
and  done  justice  to.  In  circumstances  that  made 
me  a  mystery  to  every  one,  myself  included,  she 
had  had  the  courage  to  believe  me  a  gentleman 
and  to  put  me  on  a  level  with  herself.  As  the 
days  went  by,  and  this  recognition  remained 
the  sole  mitigation  of  a  lot  that  had  grown  in- 
fanitely  bitterer  than  I  ever  supposed  it  could 
become,  I  felt  that  if  I  didn't  love  her  I  adored 
her. 

For  this  reason  I  had  to  avoid  her;  I  had  to 
take  pains  that  she  should  not  see  me.     Even  if 
other  circumstances  had  not  made   friendship 
between  us  hopeless,  my  impending  social  col- 
lapse must  have  had  that  effect.    No  good  could 
ensue  from  our  meering  again;    and  so  I  kept 
away  from  places  where  a  meeting  could  occur. 
But  an  afternoon  came  when  some  sort  of 
human   mtercourse   became   necessary  to   keep 
me  from  despair.     It  was  the  day  when  I  lost 
my  chance  at  the  boys'  school.     It  was  also  a  day 
when  three  of  my  articles  had  fluttered  back  to 
me.     It  was  also  a  day  when  I  had  made  two 
pntlemanly  appeals  for  employment,  losing  one 
because   I   couldn't  write   shorthand,   and   the 
other  because  the  man  in  need  of  a  secretary 
didn  t  want  a  high-brow. 

Drinkwater  was,  then,  a  last  resort.     He  would 
welcome  me;  he  would  tell  me  of  his  good  luck-  he 
143 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

would  call  me  Jasper;  he  would  make  a  fiiss  over 
me  that  would  have  the  warmth  of  a  lighted  fire. 

But  at  the  door  I  was  met  by  Miss  Flower- 
dew  s  little  colored  maid  with  the  information, 
given  with  darky  idioms  that  I  cannot  repro- 
duce, that  Mr.  Drinkwater  had  gone  to  take  his 
old  position  with  Doctor  Averill,  and  was  living 
in  his  house.  Miss  Blair  had  also  found  a  job, 
though  the  little  maid  couldn't  tell  me  where. 
Miss  Flowerdew  knew,  but,  unfortunately,  she 
was  spending  a  week  in  Philadelphia,  "where 
her  folks  was." 

I^^as  a  shock,  but  a  shock  with  a  thrill  in  it. 
If  Dnnkwater  had  gone  to  Boyd  Averill's,  to 
Boyd  Avenll's  I  ought  to  follow  him.  That 
which  I  had  denied  myself  for  one  reason  might, 
therefore,  become  unavoidable  for  another.  I 
forgot  that  I  had  been  planning  to  di«p  Drink- 
water  from  the  list  of  my  acquaintances,  for 
Dnnkwater  in  Boyd  Averill's  house  had  another 
value. 

He  stood  for  a  temptation.  It  was  like  wres- 
tling with  a  taste  for  drink  or  opium.  At  one 
minute  I  said  I  wouldn't  go;  at  another  I  ad- 
mitted that  I  couldn't  help  myself.  In  the  end 
I  went.  As  I  turned  from  Fifth  Avenue  my 
heart  pounded  and  my  legs  shook.  I  knew  I  was 
doing  wrong.  I  said  I  would  do  it  just  this 
once,  and  never  any  more. 

But  I  sinned  in  vain.  The  house  was  empty. 
In  the  window  beside  the  door  hung  a  black-and- 
white  sign,  "To  Let." 

144 


B'-  -n 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  would  have  been  easy  enough  to  find  out 
where  the  Avenlls  had  moved  to,  but  I  didn't 

sight  of  them;  it  was  best  for  them  to  lose  sight 
of  me.  Now  that  the  process  had  begun  I  de- 
cided to  carry  it  to  the  utmost. 

like  nITv^u'™",'"  '''="?  •'""8  lost  in  a  city 
like  New  York,  so  long  as  it  is  to  nobody's  inter- 
est to  find  you.  You  have  only  to  move  round 
Ju?"t^  "  '"  '•V^^'*"  ^""^  8one  a  thousand 
the  Barcelona  without  leaving  an  address  I  was 

lAA    u-  ^*"  °^'"/  ""^  '"«=""«'•  W  follow  me. 

1  did  this  not  of  choice,  but  of  necessity.  In 
the  matter  of  choice  I  should  have  preferred  stay- 
ing where  I  was.  Though  it  was  a  modest,  un- 
cleanly place    I  had  grown  used   .-  it;    and  I 

Jrfl  /""'''".  ^"P*''*'*'""  •"*»  the  unknown. 
But  I  had  come  down  to  my  last  ten  dollars,  with 
no  rehef  ,n  sight.    A  humbler  abode  was  impera- 

n_''^*"  to  tide  me  over  a  few  days. 

On  the  Odyssey  of  that  afternoon  I  could 
write  a  good-sized  volume.  Steps  that  would 
have  been  simple  to  a  working-man  were  difficult 
^"  I4S 


J'fl 

i 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

to  me,  because  I  had  never  had  to  take  them. 
Moreover,  because  the  business  was  new  to  me 
I  went  at  it  in  the  least  practical  way.  Instead 
of  securing  a  bed  in  one  place  before  giving  it 
up  in  another,  I  followed  the  opposite  method. 
Paying  my  bill  at  the  Barcelona,  I  went  out  in 
the  street  with  no  definite  direction  before  me. 

Rather,  I  had  one  definite  direction,  but  that 
was  only  a  first  stage.  I  had  spotted  on  my 
walks  a  dealer  in  old  clothes  to  whom  I  carried 
the  ridiculous  suits  I  had  brought  with  me  from 
France.  He  was  a  Uttle  old  Polish  Jew,  dressed 
in  queer,  antiquated  broadcloth,  whose  beard 
and  tousled  gray  hair  proclaimed  him  a  sort  of 
Nazarite. 

When  I  mentioned  my  errand  he  shook  his 
head  with  an  air  of  despair,  lifting  his  hands 
to  heaven  somewhat  in  the  manner  of  Mr. 
'Chessland. 

"No,  no!  Open  not,"  he  exclaimed,  as  I  laid 
the  suit-case  on  the  counter  in  order  to  display 
my  wares.  "Will  the  high-bom  gentleman  but 
look  at  all  the  good  moneys  spent  on  these 
beautiful  garments,  and  no  one  buys  my  mer- 
chandise?   Of  what  use  more  to  purchase?" 

When  I  had  opened  the  suit-case  he  cast  one 
look  at  the  contents,  turning  away  dramatically 
to  the  other  side  of  the  reeking  Jittle  shop.  A 
backward  gesture  of  the  hand  cast  my  offerings 
behind  him. 

"Pah I    Those    can    I    not    sell.    Take    '^m 
.away."    He  came  back,  however,  fingering  first 
146 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

fof^fin  ■  ^^'t"'  "'  ••«  *=ried.  Kfting  a  bony 
forefinger  and  defying  me  to  ask  more  "One^ 
Onel    Onel    No  more  but  one!" 

I  raised  him  to  two.  to  three,  and  finally  to 
five  for  each  suat.    In  spite  of  his  tragic  appeals 

Ind^Lwd  -r  "^^""'^  ''•"'•  '•^  --^  "'/hand 

^  J!"""  ^  "''"'  °"*  1"  *'''=  pavement,  with  twenty 
dollars  .„  my  pocket,  and  so  much  liberty  S 
action  that  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  It  was 
about  three  in  the  afternoon  of  a  sullen  Dec^m! 
ber  day.  and  big  flakes  of  snow  had  begun  to  f^I 

sSad  h  ^\'''V}y  i"  the  senseThat  my 
}^LT  ''^^"  hought  for  hot  weather,  and  the 

of  a  ,Ln  f     ""'^  T.'^f  ''='8S  in  the  doorway 

of  a  shop  for  second-hand  clothes,  I  moved  on 

more  or  less  at  random. 

But  one  thought  was  clearly  in   mv   mind 

I  must  find  a  house  where  the  sign  "Rrms"  wm 
displayed  in  a  window,  and  thefe  I  musT  goln    " 

.  For  the  first  half-hour  I  kept  this  purplse  in 
view,  walking  slowly  and  turning  my  heTd  now 
to  one  side  of  the  street,  now  to  the  other,  so  « 
!nTn"%"?  promising  haven.  A  room  being 
a^ll  needed,  any  room  within  my  price  would  do 
Havingnoexpenence  I  could  have  no  choice.  If 
I  had  choice  It  would  have  been  for  Miss  Flower- 

thTci;  l"V''" TL** l""^" *'"'"8ht  me  backbto 
the  circle  from  which  I  was  trying  to  slip  out 

147 


m 


as 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

;„.?„»  ^°*""\.  I  had  imagined  myself  as  walk- 

tha.  in  ^.  I  was  k'^pj^d  "^ft^.S  a"^ 
out  of  houses  through  most  of  that  affenKKm 
I  saw  women  and  conditions  that  almost  sh^tl 
Th"  fi^i  '='"''  ''  ^  ^="?  '^ft  '"  humTnLturl^ 
virago  An  enormous  creature,  bigger  if  not 
taller  than  myself,  and  clad  in  a  l^jseSk-flan^e 

Z't^^nflYf''-'^  t"  ''"''^'  ''heThalfeng"d 
me  to  find  a  fault  wj^h  the  room  I  declined  after 
havmg  seen  .t.     "Better  men  than  you  W 

SrentT  ^.V'^^:    ^l^J  ^  ^^o  ""» 

fing  who  smiled  in^^hlt^^^^^^^^^ 
hornbie  .f  .t  had  not  been  so  sickeningly  fmbecT 

dolh^l    f     '".^^P'Pn  while  she  showed  me  the 

week.  There  were  others  of  whom  it  is  useless 
to  attempt  a  catalogue  further  than  to  ay  th« 
they  left  me  appalled.  When  the  lightTwere 
bemg  ht  I  was  still  i„  the  streets  with  my^o 
bags,  and  the  snow  falling  faster  ^ 

niJhr^lf ''°"  *°  ^>=''^  *°  ^^«  Barcelona  for  the 

Su«  as  Tocfrrfa!''""'^''^''  ^'^^^  '  -"  ^ 

That  morning  I  had  read  in  a  paper  the  ac 

count  g,ven  by  a  young  CanadianXer  of  hS 

148 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

hours  he  lay  there  in  the  darSet  S^n^  *^° 
denng,  and  thinking  of  a  l.Vf  U  !  ^'  ^°"- 

from  Basel  where  lav  tLS'       TT'y  "°*  *"" 
who  had  tried":  'Zkthif  ;^:'  ^""^  ''"-- 

prayed.    His  aceo.im    f  T  °'"<^"''  waters,  he 

As  to  that    I  h:,A  „„»  J  .  '  P"y«>g  man. 

I"  nidi,  1  nacJ  not  prayed  in  vear«      T  k  j 

^yr^aVltTl^'f  ^ ''•^^^^^^^^^ 

HiroSTciS^-^-^-He°:^iSK 

So.  although  I  didn't^pray.  something  passed 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

through  my  mind  that  might  have  been  prayer's 
equivalent.  As  far  as  I  can  transcribe  it  into 
the  words  which  I  did  not  use  at  the  time  it  ran 
like  this: 

"I  know  there  is  a  God.  I  know  that  His  will 
IS  the  supreme  law  for  all  of  us.  I  know  that 
that  law  is  just  and  beneficent.  It  is  not  just 
and  beneficent  for  me  to  be  standing  here  in  the 
snow  and  the  slush,  chilled,  hungry,  with  wet 
teet,  workless,  and  homeless.  Consequently, 
this  IS  not  His  will.  Consequently,  I  must  give 
myself  to  discovering  that  will  as  the  first  prin- 
ople  of  safety.  Whdn  I  have  got  into  touch  with 
that  first  pnnciple  of  safety  I  shaU  find  a  home 
and  work. 

Of  this  the  immediate  result  was  that  I  did  not 
return  to  the  Barcelona.     Something  like  a  voice 
the  voice  of  another,  told  me  that  the  thread  of 
flame    led    onward.    Onward    I    drifted,    then, 
hardly  noticing  the  way  I  went,  hypnotized  by 
the  physical  process  of  being  on  the  mo/e-    It 
was  just  on  and  on,  through  the  slanting  snow- 
tail,  through  the  patches  of  blurred  light,  with 
feet   soggy  and   heart  soggier,  a  derelict  amid 
these  hundreds  of  vehicles,  these  thousands  of 
pedestrians,  all  bound  from  somewhere  to  some- 
where, and  knowing  the  road  they  were  taking. 
1  didnt  know  the  road  I  was  taking  and  in  a 
sense  I  didi;  :  care.    Having  given  up  from  sheer 
impotence  the  attempt  to  steer  my  ship,  I  was 
being  borne  along  blindly. 
When  I  lifted  my  head  to  look  about  me  again 
ISO 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

I  was  in  a  part  of  New  York  not  only  new  to  me 
but  almost  refreshing  to  the  eve      jJl^  lu  ^' 
was  one  of  those  oldishioned  Wt'^ rl  JL" 
where  the  streets  hadn't  yet  learnt  tCTh  ^1 

^^Xopt^at^^^^^ 
to   bear   the   name   of  MeetingSsT^G^^ 
There  was  no  meeting-house  in  the  neiSb^?'. 
hood  now,  and  probably  nothing  green  even  b" 
spnng     If  „  was  like  the  rest  ff  New  S   t 
would  be  dirty  in  winter  and  fetid  b  summer 
t  r  •  •"  '"°"«°»o"^  8«>und  p  W  tEp! 
town   regions  .ts   quaintness  relieved  the  per- 
ceptions to  a  degree  which  the  thunder  of  the 
near-by  Elevated  couldn't  do  away^th      W 
now  all  was  blanketed  in  white,  thro^h  wWch 
H  Woir  *•  '^^^'y  ^'  pedestrianTsSel 

J.S  time  with  the  qualifying  phra^"  for^ 
men.       Rooms    for    gentlemen  I    The    LitaT 

progress   has   not  yet   swept   awav     I^Za- 

together  at  a  sharp  angle,  it  was  shaped  like  a 
sadiron  or  a  ship's  prow.  The  tip  of  trgroi^d 
floor  was  given  over  to  a  provision  dealerf  wWle 


m\ 


■I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

a  barber  occupied  the  Lng  slit  in  the  rear.  Be- 
tween the  two  shops  a  door  on  the  level  of  the 
pavement  of  Theodora  Place  gave  on  a  little  inset 
flight  of  steps  which  led  up  to  the  actual  entrance. 
The  vestibule  was  shabby,  but,  moved  by  my  ex- 
perience in  the  early  part  of  the  afternoon,  I  ob- 
served that  it  was  clean. 

The  woman  who  answered  my  ring  was  not 
only  clean,  but  neatly  dressed  in  what  I  sup- 
pose was  a  print  stuff,  and  not  only  neatly  dressed, 
but  marked  with  a  faded  prettiness.  What  I 
chiefly  noticed  for  the  minute  was  a  pair  of  those 
enormous  doll-blue  eyes  on  a  level  with  the  face, 
as  the  French  say,  a  fluer  de  teU,  which  make 
the  expression  sweet  and  vacuous.  In  her  case 
it  was  resignedly  mournful,  as  if  moumfulness 
was  a  part  of  her  aim  in  life.  A  single  gas-jet 
flickered  behind  her,  showing  part  of  a  hallway 
in  which  the  same  walnut  furniture  must  have 
stood  for  so  many  years  that  it  was  now  groggy 
on  its  feet.  To  my  question  about  a  room  she 
replied  with  a  sweet,  sad,  "Won't  you  step  in?" 
which  was  tantamount  to  a  welcome. 

The  floor  of  the  hallway  was  covered  with  an 
oilcloth  or  linoleum  which  had  once  simulated 
a  terra-cotta  tiling,  and  was  now  but  one  re- 
move from  dust.  On  a  mud-brown  wall  a  steel- 
engraving  of  a  scow,  with  Age  at  the  hebi,  and 
Youth  peering  off  at  the  bow,  sagged  at  an  angle 
which  produced  a  cubist  effect  in  its  relation  to 
the  groggy-footed  hat-rack.  The  doors  on  the 
left  of  the  hall  were  closed;  on  the  right  a  grace- 
's* 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
St  o^ThL,'''**p^  ^y  '  ""  ^"•'"^  looking 

cIciVlT""*^  "^  7'"^  •"  *•'*  »•»"  one  of  the 

Saorth.r""''  ""*/  *«"'«'  ''Oman,  a 
replica  of  the  first,  except  for  being  older,  came 

prettv  '£*'^,"«'"'ringly.  She.  J,  was  fSy 
sauSl™/'  '  ""''  "°''™^"''  »'«='  too,  was 
rn^TsT^''   ""•  *«''  "-  -«ly  dressed' in  a 

th:ssr:a"dt  S^^mv  r"""  ^' 

The  ladies  withdre^  ToThe  L7o?"hTs?air 
e^d^r  «  »"t"Pr^''  r  ^"^"«-  This  fin  ?heSe 
elder  came  back  to  where  I  stood  on  the  door-mat 
We  generally  ask  for  references-"  she  beT^ 

"Vthfr  "  "'^.f^l'^^"  appearance.     ^'"' 
It  that  s  essentia ,"  I  broke  in    "I'm  ,f,    j 

notice  and  I  liked  the  look  of  the  house." 
AS  It  happened,  the  last  was  the  most  tactfi.l 

^WsteTe?  tr'^''  «°'"«  ^-^  *''""- o 
my  Hostesses.     Something,  too,  in  my  voice  and 

Jthi'  \"'"  °'-  ''*'"'"'•"  *•'«  «W«r  'ady  smiled 

Tefore  bet""'M  ■■  °^  ^'^^  ^°  overcome  Sny 
Detore  being  able  to  speak  at  all      "Ti-'c  „m 

fashioned    of  course,  and  hor^bly   n  the  UnJ 

part  of  the  aty  nowadays;  but  my  sisterly  ! 


n  ^ 


I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

love  it.  We've  always  lived  here,  and  our  dear 
father  before  us.  He  was  Doctor  Smith,  quite 
a  famous  oculist  in  his  day;  you  may  have  heard 
of  him?" 

II  I've  heard  the  name,"  I  admitted,  politely. 
'  We've  two  good  rooms  vacant  at  present; 
but  if  you  can't  give  references"— a  wan  smile 
deprecated  the  unladylike  suggestion— "I'm 
afraid  we  should  have  to  ask  you  for  a  week's 
rent  in  advance.  I  shouldn't  speak  of  it  if  it 
was  not  our  rule." 

When  I  had  agreed  to  this  she  led  the  way 
over  the  frayed  cocoanut  matting  of  the  stair- 
case to  an  upper  hallway,  also  carpeted  in  pul- 
verized oilcloth.  With  one  sister  ahead  of  me, 
and  the  other  shepherding  me  behind,  I  was  ush- 
ered into  a  large  prow-shaped  room  immediately 
over  the  provision  dealer,  and  smelling  faintly 
of  raw  meat.  I  could  have  borne  the  odor  if 
the  rent  had  not  been  six  a  week. 

"We've  another  room  just  over  this,"  the 
spokeswoman  informed  me,  "but  it's  only  half 
this  size." 

"If  it's  only  half  this  rent—" 
"It's  just  half  this  rent." 
So,  marshaled  as  before,  I  mounted  another 
stairway  in  cocoanut  matting  to  a  slit  of  a  room 
shaped  like  half  a  ship's  prow,  with  its  single 
window  placed  squintwise.    As  the  smell  of  raw 
meat  was  less  noticeable  here,  the  squint  of  the 
window  out  into  Meeting-House  Green,  and  the 
rent  so  low,  I  made  my  bargain  promptly. 
»S4 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

like  a  mJd^ln  I  T        c  I'  '"''  "'"  furnished 

tress  covered  with  a  cotton  1:  "^"l""" 
uated  cr«:het-work.  A  ..M.  , '^,  ,f  '"  "»- 
chair  and  a  chest  of  ^  e  ,/r^  u'  ' 
dreaner  than  they  mit'h    i,  ,vf\'  ''^   ""*" 

the  sick  ught  of  the^;"^!"^*";:  r^'^'z^f 

mantelpiece,  which  er.shrinr,;^   L,'h   '^'^'"\ 
with  a  pieee  of  cretonne  T;   VStd'^n"* 

Strtru^;,?:,;;^^'^-"^^^^ 

£j;:^:3:tS:ro&£-p-f 

hoSs"  s!"°"  ""^  ''^  "=*"  •''8'«'«-g  to  my 
on^  of  shy  pride,  of  a  ki^d''7Lt2:d  irstFul! 

to  count  th™  .         ^  "^  conversation  in  order 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

ha-'  great  sorrows.    We  try  not  to  complain  too 
much,  but — " 

A  long-dr?wn  sigh  with  a  quiver  in  it  said  the 
test,  while  I»irs.  Leeming's  eyes  spilled  tears 
with  the  readiness  of  a  pair  of  fountain  cups. 

To  escape  the  emotional  I  returned  to  my'  in- 
spection of  the  landscapes,  at  which  I  was  des- 
tmed  to  gaze  for  another  two  years. 

"Are  these  studies  of— of  Italy?"  I  asked,  for 
the  sake  of  showing  appreciation. 

Mrs.  Leeming  recovered  herself  sufficiently 
to  be  faintly  indignant. 

"Oh  no!    I  never  copy.     I  work  only  from 

imagination.    Landscapes  just   come   to   me 

and   all  different." 

Before  they  left  me  Miss  Smith  managed  to 
convey  a  few  of  the  principles  on  which  they  con- 
ducted their  house. 

"We've  three  very  refined  gentlemen  at  pres- 
ent, two  salesmen  and  a  Turkish-bath  attendant. 
One  has  to  be  so  careful.     We  almost  never  take 
gentlemen  who  don't  bring  reference;    but  in 
your  case,  Mr.  Soames— well,  one  can  see."    Her 
wan,  suffering  smile  flickered  up  for  a  minute 
and  died  down.     "There's  a  sort  of  free-masonry, 
isn  t  there?    We  have  taken  gentlemen  on  that, 
and  they've  never  disappointed  us." 
I  hoped  I  should  not  disappoint  them,  either. 
Now,    some    young    men— well,    to    put    it 
plainly,  if  there's  liquor  we  just  have  to  ask  them 
to  look  for  another  room.     Tobacco,  with  gentle- 
men, one  can't  be  too  severe  on.    We  overlook 
IS6 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

good  enough  tT  eL  r/*^      °"1'  *''"^^*'* 
the  fungi.    dVodd;^  "        !"^  ''"8'*=  •=''»'r  and 

«  the  Xr!]^S,TJ:C\  a  "Tl 
the  uttermost  edee  of  th.  f    i  t  *''  reached 

rhe  extreme  mSy  of  thSdrin  '  *^°"''  '^^ 
•t  gave  me  a  shelter  from  T  '^S""  V'"«  t*"" 
being  hungry   cold  ^n?  °t""'  ^  ~"'<J  »>ear 

wall'of  dafk^^rlTiSs'thaT h  "'^^''^ 
not  on  y  my  futur-  K..»  *  hemmed  m 

intoleraM^was  thTsen  eTf  r"'  ^•'^  ^  ^°'"«' 
blows  of  Fate  I  cou  d  "ke  with  Ze  "''"^  '^' 
but,  not  to  be  able  to  "make  ^^T"    '""""""^• 

-  to  4  kne^S  h   Slo'Vj!  '"\''- 
against   the  counterDan7„f    '  •       ^  ""^ ''"'' 


fe 


CHAPTER  III 

BUT  in  the  end  I  found  work,  so  why  tell  of 
the  paroxysm  of  loneliness  which  shook  me 
that  night  like  a  madness?  Never  before  had 
I  known  anything  like  it,  and  nothing  like  it  has 
seized  me  since.  I  must  have  remained  on  my 
knees  for  an  hour  or  more,  largely  for  the  reason 
that  there  was  nothing  to  get  up  for.  Though  I 
had  had  no  dinner,  I  didn't  want  to  eat,  and  what 
else  was  there  to  do?  To  eat  and  sleep,  to  sleep 
and  eat,  that  apparently  would  bt  my  fate  till 
my  seventeen  dollars  gave  out.  If  the  miracle 
didn't  happen  before  then — but  th,  miracle  be- 
gan to  happen  not  long  after  that,  and  this  is 
how  it  came  to  pass: 

I  got  up  and  crept  supperless  to  bed.  There 
I  slept  with  the  merciful  soundness  of  fatigue, 
wakened  by  the  crashing  past  my  window  of 
an  Elevated  train  to  a  keen  sunny  morning, 
with  snow  on  the  ground  and  the  zest  of  new  life. 

As  I  washed,  I  could  hear  my  neighbor  washing 
on  the  other  side  of  the  partition.  The  partition 
was,  in  fact,  so  thin  that  I  had  heard  all  his  move- 
ments since  he  got  out  of  bed.  The  making  of 
one  man's  toilet  taking  about  the  same  amount 
IS8 


K^'YJa^r. 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
of  time  as  that  of  another  man  in  similar  con- 
ditions, we  met  at  the  doors  of  our  «  LrivJ 
TL\'  T  '""V"'^  1°  «°  down-stairs  '^"''" 
wh^Teniw^I  rL'cU-eriL'"^-  T 
fta.r,  solemn  black  eyes,  bushy  black  eyebrows 

^o?;\"£r  tSrce'^^^H^r  atT«  =' 

air  of  friendliness.  Putting  on  the  'f"?"' 
voice  which  was  not  nat:far  to te  tfXh 
I  could  assume  for  a  brief  spurt,  I  said: 

aay,  1  wonder  it  you  could  advise  a  fellow 
whe^to  get  a  breakfast?    Only  bree«/in  ?a« 

r,i?*"T"  T^H"«-P*°P'«'  tf^re  is  always  that 
camaradene  I  had  already  noticed  in  Drinkwater 
and  Lydia  Blair,  and  which  springs  from  the 
knowledge  that  where  there  is'noth  ng  to  li 
there  IS  nothmg  to  be  afraid  of  While  I  cann^ 
«y  that  my  companion  viewed  me  with  the  sj^^ 
taneous  recognition  he  would  have  accorded  t. 
a  man  of  his  own  class,  he  saw  enough  to  warrant 
J»m  in  giving  me  his  sympathy.  The  man  of 
ZTu  "r"  ^°r  °"  »"'  '"^^  -not  granted 

de  ceid-^bi^t"^  '^'  r"*""*  ^°  which'heTas 
oescended,  but  even  when  an  object  of  suspicion 

luck\":i  r  ^?°«i''^y-  Between  morau'S 
luck  and  sheer  fortuitous  calamity  the  line  is 
not  strictly  drawn;  and  wherever  there  i  need 
there  is  a  free  inclination  to  meet  it 

1  m  on  my  way  to  my  breakfast  now,"  mv 
159  ' 


T^iFWMmm^IMm 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

neighbor  said,  after  sizing  me  up  with  a  second 
glance.  "Why  don't  you  come  along?  It's  not 
much  of  a  place  to  look  at,"  he  continued,  as  I 
followed  him  down-stairs,  "but  the  grub  isn't  bad. 
Most  of  the  places  round  here  is  punk." 

Within  ten  minutes'  time  I  found  myself  in 
a  little  eating-place  that  must  once  have  been  the 
cellar  kitchen  of  a  dwelling-house,  sitting  at  a 
bare  deal  table,  opposite  a  man  I  had  never  seen 
till  that  morning. 

"Don't  take  bacon,"  he  advised,  when  I  had 
ordered  bacon  and  eggs;  "it  'II  be  punk.  Take 
ham.  Coffee  '11  be  punk,  too.  Better  stick  to 
tea." 

Having  given  me  these  counsels,  he  proceeded 
with  those  short  and  simple  annals  of  his  history 
which  I  had  already  found  to  be  the  usual  form 
of  self-introduction.  An  Englishman,  a  Cor- 
nishman,  he  had  been  twenty  years  in  America. 
He  was  married  and  had  a  family,  but  preferred 
to  live  in  New  York  while  he  maintained  his 
household  in  Chicago. 

"Married  life  is  punk,"  was  his  summing  up. 
"Got  the  best  Uttle  wife  in  the  state  of  Illinois, 
and  three  fine  kids,  a  boy  and  two  girls — but  I 
couldn't  come  it." 

"Couldn't  come  what?" 

"Oh,  the  whole  bloomin'  business — toein'  the 
line  like,  bein'  home  at  night,  and  the  least  little 
smell  of  anythink  on  your  breath — " 

A  wave  of  his  fork  sketched  a  world  of  domes- 
tic embarrassment  from  which  he  had  freed  him- 
i6o 


i  dL,.^ 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

self  only  by  a  somber  insouciance.  A  somber 
msouciance  might  be  called  his  key-note.  Out- 
wardly senous,  ponderous,  hard-working,  and 
responsible,  he  was  actually  light-hearted  and 
inconsequent.  During  the  progress  of  the  meal 
he  recited  the  escapades  of  a  Don  Juan  with  the 
gravity  of  a  Bunyan. 
Still  with  my  good-mixer  air  I  asked: 

York?""^  ^'^^  ^  ^^  "''*'  ""^  *^"  ^  ^°^  •"  ^^^ 

"Everwork  in  a  Turkish  bath.?"  He  answered 
this  question  before  I  could  do  it  myself.  "Sure 
you  didn  t-not  a  chap  of  your  cut.  It  isn't 
a  bad  sort  of  thing  for  a"-he  hesitated,  but  de- 
eded to  use  the  epithet-"for  a-«entleman. 
l^ly  a  good  class  of  people  take  Turkish  baths 
Hardly  ever  get  in  with  a  rough  lot.  A  few 
drunks,  but  what  cf  that.?  Could  have  got  you 
a  place  at  the  Gramercy  if  you'd  ha'  turned  up 
last  week;  but  a  Swede  has  it  now  and  it's  too 

By  the  end  of  breakfast,  however,  he  had  made 
a  suggestion. 

"  Why  don't  you  try  the  Intelligence  ?  They'll 
often  get  you  a  berth  when  everything  else  has 
stumped  you. 

I  said  I  was  willing  to  try  the  Intelligence  if 
I  knew  what  it  was,  discovering  it  to  be  the  Bu- 
reau of  Domestic  and  Business  Intelligence  con- 
ducted by  Miss  Bryne.  You  presented  yourself, 
gave  your  name  and  address,  indicated  your 
choice  of  work,  told  your  qualifications  for  the 
i6i 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

job,  and  Miss  Bryne  did  the  rest,  taking  as  her 
commission  a  percentage  of  your  first  week's  pay. 

"But  I  don't  know  any  qualifications,"  I  de- 
clared, with  some  confusion. 

"Oh,  that's  nothing.  Say  clerical  work. 
That  cov-rs  a  lot.     Somethink  '11  turn  up." 

"But  if  they  ask  me  if  I  can  do  certain 
things — ?" 

"Say  you  can  do  'em.  That's  the  way  to  pull 
it  off.  Look  at  me.  Never  was  in  a  Turkish 
bath  in  my  life  till  I  went  to  an  employment- 
office  in  Chicago.  When  the  old  girl  in  charge 
asked  me  if  I  had  been,  I  said  I'd  been  bom  in 
one.  Got  the  job  right  off,  and  watched  what 
the  other  guys  did  till  I'd  learned  the  trick. 
There's  always  some  nice  chap  that  '11  show  you 
the  ropes.  Geel  The  worst  they  can  do  is  to 
bounce  you.  All  employers  is  punk.  Tieat  'em 
like  punk  and  you'll  get  on." 

With  a  view  to  this  procedure  I  was  at  the 
Bureau  of  Domestic  and  Business  Intelligence 
by  half  past  nine,  entering,  unfortunately,  with 
the  downcast  air  of  the  employer  who  is  punk, 
instead  of  the  perky  self-assertion  which  I  soon 
began  to  notice  as  the  proper  attitude  of  those 
in  search  of  work.  Miss  Bryne's  establishment 
occupied  a  floor  in  one  of  the  older  office-build- 
ings a  little  to  the  south  of  Washington  Square. 
Having  ascended  in  the  lift,  you  found  yourself, 
just  inside  the  narrow  doorway,  face  to  face  with 
a  young  lady  seated  at  a  desk,  whose  duty  it 
was  to  ask  the  first  questions  and  take  the  first 
162 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"Such  as—?" 

loi^nTtT''"*  "^'  "''■'"''  ^y  *«  questioning 
look  and  the  encouragu,g  smile  of  the  brighf 

J'u'"'~^'^  '"'P'"6  to  find  a  job,"  I  stammered 
"nu"     t"""  "tonishment.  """»"«=««' 

find  onel"       ''"'  *  """P"^*^  '*"'«  "°^-     "To 

"Xr"'  "''®*'  *°  '•"^  °ne-" 
Of— of  what  sort?" 

"Clerical  work,"  I  said,  boldly, 
name' " '"'  "**  °^"  ^"  note-book.     "Your 

"Jasper  Soames." 

''Age?" 

"Thirty-one." 

"Occupation?" 

"I've  told  you.  Any  kind  of  clerical  work 
I  suppose  that  that  means  writinE-^nd-r„H 
copymg-and  that  sort  of  thi„g,"2n't  it1~'"' 

She  glanced  up  from  her  writing.  "Is  that 
what  you've  done?"  *  "* 

I  nodded. 

I'^V^^  j"'"'^  y**"  »"y  references?" 

I  confessed  my  lack  of  «ferences,  starii.  that 

163 


i!i 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

I  had  just  come  over  from  France,  where  I  had 
worked  with  a  firm  whose  name  would  not  carry 
weight  in  America. 

"Wh:;t  did  they  do— the  firm?" 

I  answered,  wildly,  "Carpets." 

Anoth  voung  lady  was  passing,  tall,  grace- 
ful, dirci  i';uished,  air  de  duchesse,  carrying  a  note- 
book I  id  pencil. 

"Miss  Gladfoot,"  my  interlocutrice  mur- 
mured, "won't  you  ask  Miss  Bryne  to  step  here  ?" 

Miss  Bryne  having  stepped  there,  I  found 
nyrself  face  to  face  with  a  competent  woman  of 
fifty  or  so,  short,  square,  square-faced,  and  astute. 
She  also  had  a  pencil  and  note-book  in  her  hand, 
and,  seeing  me,  looked  receptive,  too,  though  re- 
maining practical  and  business-like. 

While  the  young  lady  at  the  desk  explained 
me  as  far  as  she  had  been  able  to  understand  my 
object,  delicacy  urged  me  out  of  earshot.  I  had, 
therefore,  not  heard  what  passed  when  Miss 
Btyne  came  forward  to  take  charge  of  the  situ- 
ation. 

"What  you  are  is  a  kind  of  educated  handy- 
man.    Wouldn't  that  be  it  ?" 

Delighted  at  this  discriminating  view  of  my 
capacities,  I  faltered  that  it  would  be. 

"Well,  we  don't  often  have  a  call  for  your  kind 
of  specialty,  and  yet  we  do  have  them  some- 
times. There  might  be  one  to-day,  and  then 
again  there  mightn't  be  for  another  six  months. 
Now  you  can  cithf.t  go  in  and  wait  on  the  chance, 
or  you  can  leave  your  address  and  we'll  'phone 
164 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
ai'sde^'^^  '''°""  *"-  "P  *''«  we  think 

to  wait.  ■''      P****  '""^  80'ng  m 

"Then  come  this  way  " 

melanchoVoYrs"de''rJ^f  u^''"'''^'^  '»"'• 
the  door,  LlL^L^'ri         ^-  ^?  '"'  """" 

ce..Wwpf4^:CS^^^^^^^^^^ 

to  look  about  me       *       ^'"^  '"'"'"  '"  ^hich 
I  was  obhged  to  note  at  once  that  rK.  R 

men  were  seffri.«t»J  f  ?^P  "  "hich  we  six 

throng     Gfyf  a*?,  ch.i"  *''"  P>^  ""<*  '^''"V 

tone  was  So^whaTre^T  *''^"°^•|^    '^^^ 
o'clock.    Girls  for  th.  ^  P*°P'^  ""  =»  /'«" 

lishly  dressed  sat  in  ,r"uP""  P'^^^  =»"«»  "y 
armsofTemerouL.1, '■''•?•  P''^^''"^'^  °"  the 
seeming  dSafrofdin'"'"'^  'l~"'"s,  in 
them  tLreUn.Kl'^c'P"'*  *''"''''''  ''^0"ght 
tween  mTtVesS  11'/*  *'."  '?  '•'ff^^ntiate  be- 
detect  ZfZT  u  J"?"""'  ^  ^°°"  J"med  to 
etect  the  former  by  the.r  careworn  faces,  shab! 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

bier  clothes,  apologetic  arrival,  and  ciestfallen 
departure.  Now  and  then  I  caught  a  few  broken 
phrases,  of  which  the  context  and  significance 
eluded  me. 

"I  told  her  that  before  I'd  be  after  washin'  all 
thim  dishes  I'd — " 

"Ah,  thin,  ye'll  not  shtay  long  in  that  plaace — " 
"Says  I,  'You've  got  a  crust,  Mrs.  Johnson,  to 
ask  me  to  shtay  in  when  it's  me  night — '  " 
"With  that  I  ups  and  walks  away — " 
All  this  animation  and   repartee  contrasted 
oddly  with  the  low,  cowed  remarks  of  my  com- 
panions in  the  coop,  who  ventured  to  exchange 
observations  only  at  intervals. 

Where  was  your  last?  What  did  you  get? 
How  did  you  like  your  boss?  Did  you  leave  or 
was  you  fired  ?  Are  you  a  single  fella  or  a  mar- 
ried fella  ?  Did  you  have  long  hours  ?  Wouldn't 
he  give  you  your  raise?  Did  he  kick  against  the 
bo<»e?  These  were  mere  starters  of  talk  that 
invariably  died  like  seedlings  in  a  wrong  climate. 
Getting  used  to  my  mates,  I  made  them  out  to  be 
a  gardener,  a  chauffeur,  a  teamster,  a  decayed 
English  butler,  and  a  negro  boy  who  called  him- 
self a  ■•v;>iter.  Talking  about  their  bosses,  their 
tone  ori  the  whole  was  hostile  without  personal 
malevolence.  That  is  to  say,  there  was  little 
or  no  enmity  to  individuals,  though  the  tendency 
to  curse  the  systems  of  civilized  life  was  general. 
I  think  they  would  have  agreed  with  my  Cornish 
friend  that  "all  employers  is  punk,"  and  consid- 
ered their  feelings  sufficiently  expressed  at  that. 
I66 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
But  as  I  sat  among  them,  day  after  day.  I 
began,  oddly  enough,  to  orientate  my  viSto 
the.r  point  of  view.     They  were,  of  course!  „S 

away  mto  jobs  withm  three  or  four  days;  but 
five  or  s«  or  seven  was  about  the  daily  averaw 
m  our  httle  pen.    They  came,  were  cowed^were 

week  I  was  called  out  m  response  to  applicants 
for  unusual  grades  of  help,  but  my  mILrZ 
to  hireTTf  *°  overawe  the  ladies  who  wanud 
to  hire,  and  I  was  remanded  to  my  ceU.  "She 
said  she  didn't  want  that  kind  of  a  man."  "He 
wouldn  t  want  to  eat  in  the  kitchen."  were  £e 
explanations  given  me  by  Miss  Bryne.    In  vSn 

sT^r  The'M  "°""  '"  ""^''"*='  - '-« 
f.!  i         J         °^^^^  servants  wouldn't  get  used 

to  me,  and  so  no  more  was  to  be  said 

But  I  was  getting  used  to  the  other  servants 

That  IS  my  point.     Insensibly  I  was  changing  my 

whole  social  attitude      It  was  like  the  d^ere^e 

in  looking  at  the  Grand  Canon  of  Arizon^- 

briTof1h'Tl^'7°"Y'.  T  "P-"*!  f™"  he 
brink  of  the  Colorado.    Litt  e  by  little  I  founH 

a7±  oT"  "^  r r' '"™  '"^^  ''°«-  '''S 

all  sorts  of  ranks  above  me.  I  didn't  notice  the 
change  at  once.  For  a  time  I  thought  I  Si  r«^ 
tamed  my  sense  of  obscured  superiority.  Z 
nved  in  the  morning,  heard  from  the  ujs  of  the 

"S„''°""?.  ^'^""r  '^'  '^''^  the'^famiSr 
Nothing  yet,"  passed  on  to  the  pen.  nodded  to 
those  who  were  assembled,  some  of  whom  I  would 
167 


MiaoCOTY   RtSOlUTION   TEST   CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No,  2) 


^  APPLIED  INA^GE    In 

^B*^  '653  Coil  Main   Strati 

SS^jS  RochMler,    Na*   York         1*609       uSA 

r^S  (^'6)    482  -  OMO  -  Phone 

^S  (^16)   2SB  -  59S9  -  Fa' 


■s  i 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

have  seen  the  day  before,  listened  to  their  timid 
scraps  of  talk,  which  hardly  ever  varied  from  a 
few  worn  notes. 

At  first  I  felt  apart  from  them,  above  them, 
disdamful  of  their  limitations.  My  impulse  was 
to  get  away  from  them,  as  it  had  been  to  cut 
loose  from  Lydia  Blair  and  Drinkwater.  It 
was  only  on  seeing  them  one  by  one  called  out 
of  the  pen,  not  to  come  back  again,  that  I  began  to 
envy  them.  Sooner  or  later,  every  one  went  but 
me.  I  became  a  kind  of  friendly  joke  with  them. 
"Some  little  sticker,"  was  the  phrase  commonly 
applied  to  me.  It  was  used  in  a  double  sense, 
one  of  which  was  not  without  commendation. 
"Ye  cam't  stick  like  wot  you're  doin',  old  son," 
a  footman  said  to  me  one  day,  "without  somethin' 
turnin'  up,  wot?"  and  from  this  I  took  a  grim 
sort  of  encouragement. 

But  all  I  mean  is  that  by  imperceptible  degrees 
I  felt  myself  one  of  them.  After  the  first  lady 
had  turned  me  down,  I  began  to  adapt  myself 
to  their  views  of  the  employer.  After  the  second 
lady  had  repeated  the  action  of  the  first,  I  began 
to  experience  that  feeling  of  dull  hostility  toward 
the  class  in  which  I  had  been  born  that  marked 
all  my  companions  in  the  coop.  It  was  what  I 
have  already  called  it,  hostility  without  personal 
malevolence — hostility  to  a  system  rather  than 
to  individuals.  For  a  pittance  barely  sufficient 
to  keep  body  and  soul  together,  leaving  no  mar- 
gin for  the  higher  or  more  beautiful  things  in  life, 
we  were  expected  to  drudge  like  Roman  slaves, 
i68 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

and  not  only  feel  no  resentment,  but  be  con- 
tented with  the  lot  to  which  we  were  ordained. 
1  he  clearest  thing  in  the  world  to  all  of  us  was 
that  between  us  and  those  who  would  have  us 
work  for  them  some  great  humanizing  element 
was  lack.ng-an  element  which  would  have  made 
.fe  acceptable-and  that  so  long  as  it  was  not 
there  each  one  of  us  would,  as  a  revolutionary 
bookkeeper  put  it,  "go  to  bed  with  a  grouch  " 
lo  me,  as  to  them,  the  grouch  was  growing  inti- 
mate— and  so  was  hunger. 

By  the  end  of  a  fortnight  I  was  down  to  one 
meal  a  day,  the  breakfast  I  continued  to  take 
with  Pelly,  my  Cornish  friend,  and  over  whS 
ne  told  me  his  most  intimate  experiences,  with 
an  absence  of  reserve  to  which  conversation  in  the 
pen  had  accustomed  me.    Looking  for  some  such 
return  on  my  part,  he  was  not  only  disappointed, 
but  a  httle  mystified.    I  got  his  mental  drfft 
however,  when  he  asked  me  on  one  occasion  if  f 
had  ever    hit  the  pipe,"  and  on  another  if  I  had 
ever  been  "sent  away."    Had  these  misfortunes 
happened  to  himself  he  would   have  told  me 
trankly,  and  ,t  would  have  made  no  difference  in 
his  sympathy  for  me  had  I  confessed  to  them  or 
to  any  other  delinquency.    What  puzzled  him  was 

ihtl  f  T-  '°"'^'"'  *°  "f''''"^'  =»  f°™  of  reserve 
which  to  him  was  not  only  novel,  but  abnormal. 
Nevertheless,  when  through  the  thin  partition 
I  announced  one  morning  that  I  wasn't  going 
to  breakfast,  giving  lack  of  appetite  as  a  pleaT 
ne  came  solemnly  into  my  room. 
169 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"See  here,  Soames;  if  a  fiver'd  be  of  any  use 
to  you — or  ten — or  anythink — " 

When  I  declined  he  did  not  insist  further; 
but  on  my  return  that  evening  I  found  a  five- 
dollar  bill  thrust  under  my  door  in  an  envelope. 

I  didn't  thank  him  when  I  heard  him  come  in; 
I  pretended  to  be  asleep.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  thought  it  hardly  worth  whil-  -o  say  anything. 
It  was  highly  possible  that  the  next  day  would 
say  all,  -  I  had  reached  the  point  where  it 
seemed  o  me  the  Gordian  knot  must  be  cut. 
One  quick  stroke  of  some  sort — and  Pelly  would 
get  his  five  dollars  back  untouched. 

A  cup  of  chocolate  had  been  all  my  food  that 
day.  Though  I  had  still  a  few  pennies,  less  than 
a  dollar,  it  would  probably  be  all  my  food  on  the 
next  day.  On  the  day  after  that  my  rent  would 
be  due,  and  I  couldn't  ask  the  two  good  women 
who  had  been  kind  to  me  for  credit.  What  would 
be  the  use?  A  new  week  would  bring  me  no 
more  than  the  past  weeks,  so  why  not  end  it  once 
and  for  all? 

Next  morning,  therefore,  I  gave  Pelly  back 
his  bill,  bluffing  him  by  going  out  to  our  usual 
brerkfast,  on  which  I  spent  all  I  had  in  the  world 
but  a  nickel  and  a  dime.  I  must  get  something 
to  do  that  day,  or  else — 
_  Left  alone,  I  tossed  one  of  the  two  coins  to  de- 
cide whether  or  not  I  should  go  back  to  "the 
Intelligence."  Going  back  had  not  been  easy 
for  the  last  few  days,  for  I  had  noticed  cold  looks 
on  the  part  of  Miss  Bryne  and  Miss  Gladfoot, 
170 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
with  a  tendency  to  take  me  for  a  hoodoo.     Even 
"NothT^   "'^^'  ""V^'  ''"''  ^'^  ^•^^'^ed  to  sa^ 
f/r    T    l       .    P"'  =='  *'"s  ^as  to  be  the  last 

You  must  remember,  Soames  "  she  c^.M  ;„ 
her  business-like  way,  "that  ^  '  t  the  o'nlv 
employment-office  in  New  Yo  W  r  •        r^ 

we  haven  t  been  able  to  secure  for  you." 
1  took  the  paper,  thanked  her,  and  went  on 

ame   toT  ^t''  *''^-g-ficance  of  th"s  act 
came   to   me.     It  was   dismissal.     It  was   nnt 
merely  dismissal  from  a  place,  it  was  dismissa 
from  the  possibility  of  a  dism  ssal.     To  W  a 

From'irwa^"'^'  1,^-^^'V"^  "'  '^  ^^^^Zll 

ci^i:Vb:inXtrei\''"^^°^^ 
^j^att^^^it^nLfw;^:::^^^"^^ 

chatty  groups  were  forming  all  over  the  Jlace  and 

ear  y  matrons  looking  for  maids  weretingSused 
first  by  one  sp.nted  damsel  and  then  by^another 

murmVr°T^"'  ''V^'  "^"^' '°-'  -termSnt 

WordT^'n^""'"''!'^  ."°^    ""'I    '^^^    by    ugly 
words,  and  now  and  then  by  oaths      To  me  j^ 

«r:etTinX  ^''^" /'^  ''"'"  "^  activity  in'^h 
streets  m  the  ears  of  a  man  who  is  dying 

Recovermg  from  this  state,  which  waf  almost 

171 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

that  of  coma,  I  began  feeling  for  my  hat.  I  had 
to  go  out.  I  had  to  find  a  way  to  do  the  only 
thing  left  for  me  to  do.  I  had  no  idea  of  the 
means,  and  so  must  think  them  over. 

And  just  then  I  heard  a  young  fellow  speaking, 
with  low  gurgles  of  fun.  He  was  at  the  end  of 
the  pen  and  was  narrating  an  experience  of  the 
afternoon  before. 

"It  was  a  whale  of  a  rolled-up  rug  that  must 
have  weighed  five  hunderd  pounds.  'Carry  that 
up-stairs,'  says  the  Floater.  'Like  hell  I  will,' 
says  L  He  says,  'You'll  carry  that  up  or  you'll 
get  out  o'  here.'  I  says,  '  Well,  Creed  and  Creed 
ain't  the  only  house  to  work  for  in  New  York.' 
'You  was  damn  glad  to  get  here,'  he  says,  mad- 
der 'n  blazes.  I  says,  'Not  half  so  damn  glad  as 
I'll  be  tc  get  somewhere  else,'  says  I.  'You've 
had  five  men  on  this  job  in  less  than  four  weeks,' 
says  I,  'and  nc  you'll  have  to  get  a  sixth,'  says 
I,  'if  there's  any  one  in  the  city  fool  enough  to 
take  it.  Carryin'  rugs  that  'd  break  a  man's 
back,'  I  says,  'is  bad  enough;  but  before  I'd  go 
on  workin'  under  a  blitherin'  old  son  of  a  eun 
like  you—'  " 

I  didn't  wait  to  hear  more.  I  knew  the  estab- 
lishment of  Creed  &  Creed,  not  far  away,  in 
the  lower  part  of  Fifth  Avenue.  Many  a  time 
I  had  stopped  to  admire  the  great  rugs  hung  in 
its  windows  as  a  bait  to  people  living  in  palaces. 
Not  twenty-four  hours  earlier  a  place  had  been 
vacated  there,  a  hard  place,  a  humble  place,  and 
it  was  possible,  barely  possible  .  .  . 
172 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

I  r^n  ^)^  "''1'  '''^*  ^'^  *°  Washington  Square 
I  ran;   I  ran  through  Washington  sfuare  S 

anrher""'''''^''"""^-     «^-»''>-^  nZ  W 
another  cause  than  speed,  I  paused,  nominX 

to  your"^ ''  """  ^'  P""''''^  f-  •"«  to  be  of  use 


CHAPTER  IV 


AS  I  recall  the  minute  now  my  first  thought 
XlL.  was  of  my  appearance.  I  had  noticed  for 
some  time  past  that  it  was  running  down,  and 
had  regarded  the  change  almost  with  satisfaction. 
The  more  out  at  elbow  I  became  the  less  would 
be  the  difference  between  me  and  any  other 
young  fellow  looking  for  employment.  It  hadn't 
escaped  me  that  I  grew  shabby  less  with  the 
honorable  rough-and-tumble  of  a  woi  king-man 
than  with  the  threadbare,  poignant  poverty  of 
broken-down  gentility;  but  I  hoped  that  no  one 
but  myself  would  perceive  that.  I  had  thus 
grown  careless  of  appearances,  and  during  the 
past  forty-eight  hours  more  careless  than  I  nad 
been  tiitherto.  Feeling  myself  a  lamentable  ob- 
ject, I  had  more  or  less  dressed  to  suit  the  part. 

I  knew  instantly  that  it  was  this  that  had  in- 
spired the  words  I  had  just  listened  to.  I  knew, 
too,  that  I  must  bluff.  Wretched  as  I  looked,  I 
must  carry  the  situation  off,  with  however  pitiful 
a  bit  of  comedy. 

Turning,  I  lifted  my  hat,  with  what  I  could 
command  of  the  old  dignity  of  bearing. 

"How  early  you  are!"  I  smiled  bravely.  "I 
«74 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"I've'  bellJ  SrV'  "^'■^'''"""^  ''-'^^hop. 

tions  aside  as  irrdevant  to  1    if'"^  '''T  "P'^"^' 
now  that  we  had  ^er- Wh^ar'  '^'l'"  "^> 

oldhouse:3jJrretr-^.    Ica.,edat.o„. 
-reTrcaT?u'rCe3s''r'  ^Vl  J^^^''^ 

in^fe^:^i'^;^"--''o-tep.ss- 
^^^  There's  never  anything  n,ore  pressing  than 
;*Not  for  people  hke  you." 

with  but  invest/'  "'  "°*'''"e  t°  do 

inv2?"  '^"'^  ^°"  "^^  ^°  ''^e  your  money 
to  7o  wh^v"  '"°"^'  "'^^"  ^''"^'^  "«'"ng  else 

"S  butXrTfs-^'fV"  fT'"'-  ^'^^^^  '-'^- ' 
jy  „      "t  tnere  is-if  you  looJc  at  it  in  the  right 


way. 


m 


',     s 
.    ■  1 


til 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"I  don't  have  to  look  at  it  any  way." 
"Yes,  you  do,  when  it's — when  it's  only  com- 
mon sense." 

"What's  only  common  sense?" 
"My  being — being  useful  to  you." 
"Oh,  but  you're  useful  to  me  through — through 
your  very  kindness." 

"".'hat's  not  enough.     Surely  you — you  see!" 
I  could  say  quite  truthfully  that  I  didn't  see. 
"But  suppose,"  I  continued,  "that  we  don't  talk 
of  it." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  fiercely,  "and  leave 
everything  where  we  left  it  the  last  time.  You 
see  what's  come  of  that." 

"I  see  what's  come,  of  course;  but  I  don't 
know  that  it's  come  of  that." 

There  were  so  few  people  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  we  were  so  plainly  examining  the  Chinese 
rug,  that  we  could  talk  together  without  attract- 
ing attention. 

"Oh,  what  kind  of  people  are  we?"  she  ex- 
claimed, tapping  with  one  hand  the  book  she  held 
in  the  other.  "Here  I  am  with  more  money  than 
I  know  what  to  do  with;  and  here  are  you — " 
"With  all  the  money  I  want." 
Her  brown  eyes  swept  me  from  head  to  foot. 
"That's  not  true,"  she  insisted.  "When  I  first 
knew  you  I  thought — I  thought  you  were  just 
"xperimenting — " 

"And  how  do  you  know  I'm  not?" 
"I  know  it  from  what  you  said  yourself — that 
last  time." 

176 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"What  did  I  say?" 

"That  if  it  wasn't  trouble  it  was  misfortune." 
"Oh,  *hu!" 

"Yes,    .lat.     Isn't  it  enough?    And  then  I 
know  it—     Well,  can't  I  see?" 

I  tried  to  laugh  this  off.     "Oh,  I  know  I'm 
rather  seedy-looking,  but  then — " 

"You're  worse  than  seedy-looking;  you're — • 
you're— tragic— to  me.  Oh,  I  know  I  haven't 
any  rignt  to  say  so;  but  that's  what  I  complain 
of,  that's  what  I  rebel  against,  that  we've  got 
our  conventions  so  stupidly  organized  that  just 
because  you're  a  man  and  I'm  a  woman  I 
shouldn't  be  allowed  to  help  yoa  when  I  can." 
"You  do  help  me,  with  your  great  sympathy." 
She  brushed  this  iside.  "That's  no  help.  It 
doesn't  feed  and  clothe  you." 

I  endeavored  to  smile.  "That's  very  plain 
talk,  isn't  it?" 

"Of  course  it's  plain  talk,  because  it's  a  per- 
fectly plain  situation.  It  isn't  a  new  thing  to  me 
to  see  people  who've  been  going  without  food. 
At  the  Settlement — " 

I  still  kept  up  the  effort  to  smile.  "If  I'd  been 
going  without  food  there  are  a  dozen  places — " 
"Where  they'd  give  you  a  meal,  after  they'd 
satisfied  themselves  that  you  hadn't  been  drink- 
ing. I  know  all  about  that.  But  would  you 
go?  vVould  you  rather  drop  dead  of  starvation 
first  ?  And  what  gocd  would  't  do  you  in  the  end, 
just  one  meal,  or  two  meals,  when  everything  else 
is  lacking?    It's  the  whole  thing — " 

12  177 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"But  how  would  you  tackle  that,  the  whole 
thing?  It  seems  to  me  that  if  1  can't  do  it  my- 
self no  one  else — " 

"I'll  tell  you  as  straightforwardly  as  you  ask 
the  question.  I  should  give  you,  lend  you,  as 
much  money  as  you  wanted,  so  that  you  should 
have  time  to  reorganize  your  Kfe." 

"And  suppose  I  couldn't,  that  I  spent  your 
money  and  was  just  where  I  was  before?" 

"Then  my  conscience  would  be  clear." 

"But  your  conscience  must  be  clear  in  any 
case." 

"It  isn't.     When  all  you  ask  for  is  to  help — " 

"But  you  can  help  other  people — ^who  need  it 
more." 

"Oh,  don't  keep  that  up.  I  know  what  you 
need.  I've  told  you  already  I've  seen  starvation 
before.  Don't  be  offended !  And  when  it's  you, 
some  one  we've  all  known,  and  Uked —  Boyd 
liked  you  from  the  first." 

"But  not  from  the  last." 

"He  thinks  you're — you're  strange,  naturally. 
We  all  think  so.  I  think  so.  But  that  doesn't 
make  any  difference  when  you  don't  get  enough 

to  '.Zt." 

"And  suppose  I  turned  out  to  be  only  an  ad- 
venturer?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  after  a  habit 
she  had.  "That  would  be  your  responsibility. 
Don't  you  see?  I'm  not  thinking  so  much  about 
you  as  I  am  about  myself.  It's  nothing  to  me 
what  you  are,  not  any  more  than  what  Lydia  is, 
178 


THE  THREAD  OF  TLAME 

or  a  dozen  others  I  could  name  ro  you.     I  think 
it  highly  probable  that  Lydia  Blair  will  take  the 
road  we  call  going  to  the  bad — " 
"Oh,  surely  not!" 

This  invitation  to  digression  she  also  swept 
aside.  "She  won't  do  it  with  her  eyes  shut, 
never  fear!  She'll  know  all  about  it,  and  take 
her  own  way  because  it's  hers.  Don't  pity  her 
If  I  were  half  so  free—" 
"Well?" 

"Well,  for  one  thing,  you'd  have  another 
chance.  If  you  didn't  use  it  that  would  be  your 
own  affair." 

"Why  do  you  peak  of  another  chance?  Do 
you  think — ?" 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me  what  I  think.  I  take  it 
for  granted  that — " 

"Yes?  Please  tell  me.  V  ,.t  is  it  that  you 
take  for  granted?" 

"What  good  would  it  do  for  me  to  tell  you?" 
''It  would  do  the  good  that  I  should  know." 
"Well,  then,  I  take  it  for  granted,  sbce  you 
insist,  that  you've  done  something,  somewhere — " 
"And  still  you'd  lend  me  as  much  money  as  I 
asked  for?" 

"What  difference  does  it  make  to  me?  I  want 
you  to  have  another  chance.  I  shouldn't  want 
it  if  you  didn't  need  it;  and  you  wouldn't  need 
it  unless  there  was  something  wrong  with  you. 
There!  Is  that  plain  enough?  But  because 
there  is  something  wrong  with  you  I  want  to 
come  in  and  help  you  put  it  right.  I  don't  care 
179 


!    i 


! 

i  i 


III  I' 


I  li 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

who  you  are  or  what  you've  done,  so  long  as  those 
are  the  facts." 

"But  I'm  obliged  to  care,  don't  you  see?    If 

I  were  to  take  advantage  of  your  generosity—" 

"Tell  me  truthfully  now.    Would  you  do  it 

if  I  were  a  man,  a  friend,  who  msisted  on  helpmg 

you  to  start  again?" 

I  tried  to  gain  time.     "It  would  depend  on  the 
motive." 

"Well  assume  the  motive  to  be  nothing  but 
pure  friendship,  just  the  desire  that  you  should 
have  every  opportunity  to  make  good  again, 
and  nothing  else.  Absolutely  nothing  else!  Do 
you  understand?  Would  you  take  it  from  him 
then?  Flease  tell  me  as  frankly  as  if—" 
''I— I  might." 

"And  because  I'm  not  a  man  but  a  woman, 
you  can't." 
"It  isn't  the  same  thing." 
"Which  is  just  what  we  women  complain  of, 
just  what  we  fight  against,  the  stupid  conventions 
that  force  us  into  being  useless  in  a  world — " 
"Oh,  but  there  are  other  ways  of  being  useful." 
"No  other  way  of  being  useful  compensates 
for  the  one  which  seems  to  you  paramount,  above 
all  others,  and  from  which  you  are  debarred." 

"But  why  should  it?    You  and  I  never  met 
till — " 

"You  can't  argue  that  way.    You  can't  reason 
about  the  thing  at  all.     I'm  not  reasoning,  fur- 
ther than  to  say  that— that  I  believe  in  you,  in 
your  power  of— of  coming  back.    That's  the 
i8o 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

phrase,  isn't  it?    And  as,  apparently,  I'm  the 
only  one  in  a  position  to  go  to  your  aid-" 

^''^.  **'^"'  out  her  hands  with  a  gesture  she 
sometimes  used  which  implied  that  aU  had  bLn 

.  ij"u  '"T*^*  *."*'  ^*  compromised.    That  is  I 

shy  people  who  dash  out  of  their  shyness  for  some 
adventure  too  bold  for  the  audacious    sheT*! 

TJ:t  "  ^K^r'^--    ^"""^-^  .^to  h'er  mot^^ 
as  soon  as  we  had  arrived  at  a  temporary  decision 
Je  drove  away   leaving  me  stiu'^t  a  bsfa  To 
whether  or  not  I  was  Malvolio. 

Dumfounded    and    distressed    by   this    unex- 

offer  made  m  ,t,  my  thoughts  began  to  run  wild. 
It  was  m  my  power  to  live,  to  eat,  to  pay  my 
way  for  a  httle  longer.  Of  the  money  at  Ter 
disposa  I  need  accept  no  more  than  a  few  ha^! 
dred  dollars  a  tnfle  to  her,  but  to  me  everything 
in  the  world  Even  if  it  did  me  no  moreXnf 
passmg  good,  ,t  would  do  me  that.  If  I  had 
m  the  end  to  "get  out."  as  I  phrased  it,  I  Jm 
l^^A  ^  T  '  L  "  "*'"*'''*'  *'«"=  ^''^n  <Jo  it  that 
rhTmtV"  ^'^  •"'-"  "•'''•=  ^'-^  ™«''^  ^- 

It  was  the  mad  prospect  of  all  this  that  sent 
I8i 


:!l!i 


!: 


illllJill 


I    1i 


I  II     I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

me  out  of  Fifth  Avenue  to  crawl  along  the  side 
of  Creed  &  Creed's  establishment,  which  flanked 
the  cross-street,  without  noticing  the  way  I  took. 
For  the  minute  I  had  forgotten  the  errand  that 
brought  me  to  this  particular  spot  in  New  York. 
It  had  been  crowded  out  of  my  memory  by  the 
fact  that,  after  all,  it  might  not  matter  whether 
I  found  work  or  not.  I  could  live,  anyhow.  All 
I  had  to  do  was  to  take  a  telephone  list,  call  up 
Boyd  Averill's  number,  say  that  I  had  changed 
my  mind.  .  .  . 

It  was  a  temptation.  For  you  to  understand 
how  fierce  a  temptation  it  was  you  would  have 
to  remember  that  for  a  month  I  had  been  insuf- 
ficiently fed,  and  that  for  a  week  I  had  not  really 
been  fed  at  all.  Moreover,  I  could  see  before  me 
no  hope  of  being  fed  in  the  immediate  future. 
I  was  asking  myself  whether  it  would  be  common 
sense  on  the  part  of  a  drowning  man  to  refuse 
a  rope  because  a  woman  in  whom  there  might 
be  a  whole  confusion  of  complex  motives  had 
thrown  it,  when  I  suddenly  found  my  passage 
along  the  pavement  blocked. 

It  was  blocked  by  what  appeared  to  be  a  long 
cylindrical  bar,  some  two  or  three  feet  in  diameter. 
Covered  with  burlap,  it  ran  from  a  motor  truck, 
in  which  one  end  still  rested,  toward  the  entrance 
to  that  part  of  Creed  &  Creed's  establishment 
that  lay  slightly  lower  than  the  pavement.  It 
was  a  wide  entrance,  after  which  came  two  or 
three  broad,  shallow  steps,  and  then  a  cavern 
which  was  evidently  a  storehouse.  Two  men 
i8a 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
were  tugging  at  the  long  object,  the  one  big.  dark 
brawny,  clad  ,n  overalls,  and  equal  to  thf  w"k 

for  t°h.  :  "  ''"''  ^'^  °^  '"^  *'•'*  '"^"'  nattily  drlrsed 
for  the  street,  weanng  a  high  soft  felt  hat,  posst 
bb^m  the  hope  of  making  himself  look  taHer  A 
cS  d^'t'  that  sprang  outward  in  a  em^ 
itfl^i  I  u-"""'  "  ""'^"'^"t  mouth,  though 
It  smothered  his  wrathful  expletives.  That  he 
had  once  been  agile  I  could  easily  guess,  but  now 
h.s  poor  old  joints  were  stiff  from  age  ir  d  s"se 

,  J_^    ^  J  younger  man-he  was  about  my  own 

o^T""'^^  "I"^'*"  ''^  «"«1  «=>^i'y  enough,The  dd 
one^tugged  desperately  at  his,  finally' i;^gt 

"Gr-r-r-rl" 

The  growl  was  that  of  an  irascible  man  too 
angiy  to  be  articulate.  If  the  thread  of  flar^ 
ever  led  me,  .t  was  then.  Without  a  minutes 
hesitation,  I  picked  up  the  dropped  en"  of  the 

n.^;f^E;e-a^n=t^^^^^^^ 

theltZt  "^  '  f  V"  '""''''  °f  th,m  things." 
the  big  fellow  was  beginning.  *^  * 

Is  that  the  Floater?"  I  asV^A  i„  ^  u      •  j 
undertone,  as  the  littk  ma'n  tbbled  dot'^he 
183 


!:i; 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

steps  and  made  his  way  toward  us  in  the  semi- 
darkness. 

"He  sure  is,  and  some  damn  light  floater  at 
tbit." 

Before  I  could  analyze  this  reply  the  Floater 
himself  stood  in  front  of  me. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  demanded,  sharply, 

"Do  you  mean  my  name?" 

"I  don't  care  a  damn  about  your  name.  What 
business  had  you  to  pick  up  that  rug?" 

"Only  the  business  of  wanting  to  help.  I 
could  see  it  wasn't  a  gentleman's  job — and — and 
I — I  thought  you  might  take  me  on." 

He  danced  with  indignation. 

"Take  you  on?  Take  you  on?  What  do  you 
mean  by  that?" 

"You  see,  sir,  it  was  this  way.  I've  just  run 
up  from  the  Intelligence  where  I  heard  a  fellow 
gassing  about" — I  varied  the  story  from  that 
which  I  had  heard  at  Miss  Bryne's — "about  •>«»§ 
lucked  out  of  here." 

"Was  he  a  gabby  sort  of  a  guy?"  my  big  col- 
league inquired. 

"That  would  describe  him  exactly;  and  so  I 
thought  if  I  could  reach  here  in  time,  before  y  ^u'd 
had  a  chance  to  get  any  one  else — " 

"Chance  to  get  any  one  else?"  the  little  man 
snarled.  "I  can  go  out  into  the  street  and  shovel 
'em  in  by  the  cartload.     Dirt,  I  call  'eml" 

"Yes,  sir;  but  you  haven't  done  it.  That's 
all  I  mean.     I  thought  if  I  got  here  first — " 

It  was  easy  to  size  him  up  as  a  vain  little  terrier, 
184 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

*Tf  ^.■i^gi.'£,"st*;^^'^" 
You  re  quite  right,  sir.  You'd  see  that  when 
lots  of  other  men  wouldn't.  As  a  matter  „ff 
th.s  job  or  -yother  job  would  b:newtol'"i 
had  some  money-but  the  war's  got  me^tonci 
broke.     I  hved  in  France  till  just  lately." 

fightiL'r    '"'='    '"    ^""«^^'    ^^y    -n't    you 

,.  ^.V'T'"!  ^}^  """^  ^'^'^  of  inventing  a  tale 
as  with  Boyd  Averill,  I  said,  boldly:         ^ 

I  did  fight  till  they  discharged  me  Got 
a  blow  on  the  head,  and  wasn't  any  gTod  aSr 
that  I  was  with  the  French  army  bSe  mv 
people  hved  over  there.  When  I  i,?^ut  of7 
there  was  no  provision  made  for  me,  of  course 
My  father  and  mother  had  died  mv  f^t^It^ 
business  had  b,en  smashed  to  ptces-''  "'  ' 

What  was  he?" 
Luckily  my  imagination  didn't  fail  me. 
An  artist.    He  was  just  beginning  to  make 
a  hit.    I  was  to  have  been"— I  «f...»K*  <•       l 
most  credible  possibility-«a„  arcS.  'T^': 


W', 


fi 


! 


ili. 


Mi 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

school  for  architects  m  Paris;  but  of  course  all 
that  was  knocked  on  the  head  when  my  father 
d.ed   and  so  I  sailed  for  New  York  " 

Haven't  you  got  no  relations  here?" 
mLhtU  ''^  '•*"  ^y**'^  Bl^'f  thought  she 

atraid  of  the  Mormon  connotation.  "My  family 
used  to  live  in-i„  California;  hut  they're  aU 
scattered,  and  we'd  been  in  Eu'rope  for  L^man^ 

''Amur'cans  should  live  in  God's  country-" 

ct,  M  .  T'  '^^^^  '°""''  °«-  If  we  had.  I 
shouldnt  be  asking  for  a  job  in  order  to  g«'  I 
meal  I  m  down  to  that,"  I  confessed,  sho^ng 
him  the  nickel  and  the  dime.  ""owing 

:,t;!If  *°°^  *  "^""n''  "'■  ^^'^  *°  "■««««  on  the  situ- 
ation, saymg,  finally,  with  a  little  relenting  in  h"s 

"There's  nine  more  rugs  out  in  that  lorry 
fiftrcent?'  '^"  ""*  *''  '"^  *'"^™  ^  y-'"  8« 

If  it  was  not  the  miracle,  it  was  a  sign  and  a 
vonder  none  die  less.     Fifty  cents  would  tide 

in  all,  and  It  would  be  my  own.     I  should  not 

tivl'o'f  !.     "  ^'■°™  '  ^°'"="''  ^J'^^'^^"  the  m^ 
tive  of    her  generosity.     It  was  that   motive 

ha  "w  %T  *"'"'''^-  ^f '^  --  ^hat  it  mSht 
have  been,  if  I  was  not  a  mere  fatuous  fool,  then 
there  was  no  hole  so  deep  that  I  had  better  not 
ftide  in  It.  no  distance  so  great  that  I  had  better 
i86 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

he^r  fn  difc"  '"  =""'  '"^-    I*  -"-'-J  wound 
prefoable    :    "  ""  '"^'^  ~"«  ^''^  would  bj 

fol W  SmTnrBrif  f  '"^t"? ^''^^*' I ~"Wn't 
but  not  un'kfndly  ,tr  """^'^  "  -n-con^mittal 

aJn^ri^it^'^ctyTaHh^  t"^  ^l  - 
you  heard  at  Lizzie^  Thl.'T  •^•''''yn '^''"P 
Su«  I  .oind  her 'Xn  Jtt^er'S'  fS 
notion  store  down  by  Grime  Street  ,n!i  J 

a.s  she  gives  herse,?,  ^rwrthe^ir  it" 
ag  in  itl    Come  awn  now.    We'll  •»«  »!,.        iT 

Bojfharas."   ^        '"'^  '''  '^'  ««'°«  for  the 

LTpful  and  it""  "°*^'»^«Iy  good-natured,  but 

«  v.reea  1  learned  m  the  course  of  that  half 
hour,  though  it  turned  out  to  be  little  more  rh.l" 

187 


SI     ;. 
Ill 


■M 


m 

51 


Ill  I 


|i  'I  3  m 

I  II  III! 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

peasants  in  the  vale  of  Olympus  could  have  re- 
counted of  the  gods  on  the  mountain-top.  To 
Bridget  they  were  celestial,  shadowy  beings,  seen 
as  they  passed  in  and  out  of  the  office,  or  (topped 
to  look  at  some  new  consignment  from  the  Far 
East;  but  he  barely  knew  their  names. 

The  highest  flight  of  his  information  was  up  to 
the  Floater;  beyond  him  he  seemed  to  consider 
it  useless  to  ascend.  Of  the  gods  on  the  summit, 
the  Floater  was  the  high  priest,  and  in  that  capac- 
ity he,  alone,  was  of  moment  to  those  on  the 
lower  plane.  He  administered  the  favors  and 
meted  out  the  punishments.  "He's  It,"  was 
Bridget's  laconic  phrase,  and  in  the  sentence,  as 
far  as  he  was  concerned,  or  I  was  concerned,  or 
any  salesman  or  porter  was  concerned,  Creed  & 
Creed's  was  summed  up. 

Of  the  Floater's  anomalous  position  in  the  es- 
tablishment, the  explanation  commonly  accepted 
by  the  porters,  the  "luggers"  they  called  them- 
selves, was  that  he  was  in  possession  of  dark 
secrets,  which  it  would  have  been  perilous  to 
tempt  him  to  divulge,  concerning  the  firm's  pros- 
perity. A  mysterious  blood-relationship  with 
"Old  Man  Creed,"  who  had  founded  the  house 
some  sixty  years  before,  was  also  a  current  specu- 
lation. Certain  it  was  that  his  connection  with 
the  business  antedated  that  of  any  one  among 
either  partners  or  employees,  a  fact  that  gave 
him  an  authority  which  no  one  disputed  and  all 
subordinates  feared. 

The  job  finished,  Bridget  and  I  sat  on  the  pile, 
i88 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

basement.  T^  :r7u:::ZtZZTn^' ^^ 
"t*."'"  landing  up  and  saying '^Ir-r'X.o 
whjch  h.  was  susceptible.  Ll^  .o/^;  » 

I  a2idturKf''%' °''1?'""8,  sir.  isn't  there?" 
«Wk    .   "    ^'  =''^'*'"  ^  '•=«'  been  paid. 
Wh«  sit  to  you  if  there  is?" 

4™.^  ^°-  *'"l^''«"  I  "^ome  down  again--" 
me  "Tr"^  J'«  where  y'are,"  Bridget  wrrned 
me.  They  re  awful  short-handed  abovp  Ti^J 
customers  comin'  in  by  the  shovel^L  TheyVe 
got  to  have  four  lueeers  to  null  ♦»,..   »  a-  "cy  ve 

ast  ni  Jr  S^»<^y  P"t.the  skids  under  hSsel 
last  night  1  could  see  how  it  'd  be  to-dav      U  ™. 
a  ^dsend  to  the  little  odd  man  when^u  bleVl^ 
but  he  always  wants  ye  to  think  he  can  bearth; 
game  right  out  of  his  own  hand." 
189 


l\ 


l! 


I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Thus  encouraged  I  stood  my  ground,  and  when 
the  next  load  came  I  had  the  privilege  of  helping 
Bridget  to  handle  it.  By  the  end  of  the  day  I 
had  not  only  earned  a  dollar  and  a  half  but  had 
been  ordered  by  the  Floater  to  turn  up  again  next 
morning. 

"Ye're  all  right  now,"  Bridget  said,  com- 
placently. "Ye've  got  the  job  so  long  as  ye  can 
hould  it  down.  I'll  give  ye  the  dope  about  that, 
and  wan  thing  is  always  to  trate  him  the  way 
ye've  trated  him  to-day.  It's  what  he  wants 
of  us  other  guys,  and  we've  not  got  the  trick  o' 
handin'  it  out.  Men  like  us,  that's  used  to  a 
free  counvry,  don't  pass  up  no  soft  talk  to  n^  one. 
What's  your  name?" 

I  said  it  was  Jasper  Soames. 

"Sure  that's  a  hell  of  a  name,"  he  commented, 
simply.  "The  byes  'd  never  get  round  the  like 
o'  that.  Yer  name  '11  be  Brogan.  Brogan  was 
what  we  called  the  guy  that  was  here  befoic 
Clancy,  and  it  done  very  well.  All  right,  then, 
Brogan.  Ye'U  have  Clancy's  locker;  and  momd 
ye  don't  punch  the  clock  a  minute  later  than 
siven  in  the  momin',  or  that  little  ould  divil  '11 
be  dancin'  round  to  fire  ye." 

So  Brogan  I  was  at  Messrs.  Creed  &  Creed's 
all  through  the  next  two  years. 


iip 


CHAPTER  V 

And  vet  wh^n  I  ^  II  4  L  '      *^°"'*'  "<«  forecast. 

she  as"kU"fterVh3  5"  ^  T'^  ''''°"  y°"'" 

gratSr  a^^  °"'^  ^  "^^  y^"  *«  ^ow  how 
JOh.   please   don't.     If  I   could   have   done 

;;FortunateIy  that  wasn't  needed." 
But  ,f  It  should  be  needed  in  the  future-" 
191 


■  t.l< 

! 

l!l    '?■ 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"I  hope  it  won't  be." 

"But  if  it  should  be?" 

"Oh,  then  we'd—we'd  see." 

"So  that  for  now  it's—"  that  note  stole  into 
her  voice  again,  and  with  a  wistful  questioa  in 
the  intonation — "for  now  it's — it's  good-by?" 

"Only  for  now." 

She  seemed  to  grasp  at  something.  "What 
do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Oh,  just  that— ^at  the  future — " 

"I  hate  the  future." 

It  was  one  of  her  sudden  outbursts,  and  the 
receiver  was  hung  up. 

After  all,  this  abrupt  termination  to  an  un- 
satisfactory mode  of  speech  was  the  wisest  method 
for  us  both.  We  couldn't  go  on  sparring  and 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  spar.  Knowing  that 
I  couldn't  speak  plainly  she  had  ceased  to  expect 
me  to  do  so,  and  yet  .  .  . 

When  I  say  that  this  was  a  relief  to  me,  you 
must  understand  it  only  in  the  sense  that  my 
situation  was  too  difficult  to  allow  of  my  inviting 
further  complications.  Had  I  been  free — but 
I  wasn't  free.  The  conviction  that  somewhere 
in  the  world  I  had  permanent  ties  be^an  to  be  as 
strong  as  the  belief  that  at  some  time  in  my  life 
love  had  been  the  dominating  factor.  There  had 
been  a  woman.  Lydia  Blair  had  seen  her.  Her 
flaming  eyes  liaunted  me  from  a  darkness  in 
whirh  they  were  the  only  thing  living.  The  fact 
that  I  couldn't  construct  the  rest  of  the  portrait 
no  more  permitted  me  to  doubt  the  original  than 
192 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
you  can  doubt  the  »•'«».„.     r       . 
have  seen  a  leaff^^r  '^.**^»  P'V«  »'^"  y" 
for  now  was  the  pn"  k«e  i  2^  ^  ?""  ^T'^ 
•n  some  simple.  .Jen.^SlrttlT'^''8 
me  the  atmosphere  in  which  to  r^lii"'*'  «'''* 

It  was  opportunitv    thJuf^'  l  ^  ***  "°^  ^»t 

saidsoatXtr'^'AfeV  *^''"'''  ""*  ''»^« 
necessity.  thouS  hard  n^      ""'  '*T»»  ^^'y  hard 

ucts  of  shelter  and  teTh-yj"-''  "^""^  P^*"'" 
meant  peace     Ih^A  I  u"'''  "  themselves 

and  to  it  I  am  LH  ^""'^  therefore,  of  a  kind, 

and  progr L:  bacWarri/l  r  "^""  '^''  ^^^ 
which  led  to  theSie        '^"^  «press myself. 

lap^orl^^^te^  '-''."«  o'^the  bur- 
Ping  the  roHs  oTtL^        consignment,  strip. 
we.?wrapMi^Lt\^J,':P?'^l»  ^'hich  they 
''weeping  tLmwW, 'a  Sr^*''l™e*  ««'  »nd 
that  Vlaid  Themin  a"St"rf  ^"^"'-    ^^" 
to  carrying  them  uj^staTs     Wf  P'"P^[«°'y 
«ans.  Kirmanshahs,^";,*  and  r^'  P°^^^ 
a  superb  lot  of  blue  and^W  P^      "°''^''  ^'^^ 
on  the  company's  Wmst"  Inta" ' ''''™''"-'' 
ine  good-natured   Peter   RnVJ^l-       i-       . 

T^  Of  ..i\„Tr£Ss"br.S 

'93 


;,ii 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 


IM 


i  i 


i! 


thwarting  of  a  strong  ambition  to  "get  on." 
Combining  the  broad  features  of  the  Lapp  with 
Scandinavian  hair  and  complexion,  his  expres- 
sion reminded  you  of  a  bright  summer  day  over 
which  a  storm  was  begiiming  to  lower.  The  son 
of  one  large  family  and  the  father  of  another,  he 
was  at  war  with  the  world  in  which  his  earning 
capacity  had  come  to  have  its  limitations  fixed 
at  eighteen  dollars  a  week. 

He  was  not  conversational;  he  only  grunted 
remarks  out  of  a  slow-moving  bitterness  of  spirit. 

"What's  the  good  of  always  layin'  the  pipe  and 
never  gettin'  no  oil  along  it  ?  That's  what  I  want 
to  know.  Went  to  work  when  I  was  fourteen, 
and  now  I'm  forty-two,  and  in  exactly  the  same 
spot." 

"You're  not  in  exactly  the  same  spot,"  I  said, 
"because  you've  got  your  wife  and  children." 

"And  the  money  I've  spent  on  that  woman 
and  them  kids  I" 

"  But  you're  fond  of  them,  aren't  you  ?" 

"No  better  wife  no  guy  never  had,  and  no  nicer 
Uttle  fam'ly." 

"Well,  then,  that's  so  much  to  the  good. 
Those  are  assets,  aren't  they?  They'll  mean 
more  to  you  than  if  you  had  money  in  the  savings 
bank  and  didn't  have  them." 

"1  can't  eddicate  'em  proper,  or  send  'em  to 
high-school,  let  alone  college,  or  give  'em  nothin' 
like  what  they  ought  to  have.  All  I  can  leave 
'em  when  I  die  is  what  my  father  left  me,  the 
right  not  to  be  able  to  get  nowhere — and  yet 
194 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

tWs'!e&Wh"  t  "^  «"•'''"«  ''^^'  »^»y  about 
this  bein  the  best  country  for  a  working-man  » 

Av^nu?*^  •''•"  'T''-^"  ^"^  '•rifted  int^o  Rfth 
Avenue,  jommg  the  throng  of  those  who  for  si«v 

umbo.  Lrnibo,  I  ask  you  to  notice,  is  not  hell- 
tlV  f"/™™  P^adise.  The  diaionajy  di' 
fines  the  word  as  a  borderland,  a  place  of  remaim 
and  .t  was  in  both  those  sens^.  I  th!„k,Xt  rfS 
shop  and  the  factory  struck  the  imaginadons  of 
these  churning  minds.  The  shop  and  thefo«o^ 
formed  a  borderland,  neither  one  thi^nof^ 

the^:  "f ;.'"  t  P'r  °^  -trfinTno^e 
volved  t  a  ^'"  ^^J"  P'^y"'"'  ««"int  in- 
volyed  m  the  necessity  for  working  was  implied 

the  part  of  ^  man  that  soars,  restraint  of  the  in, 
pulse  to  seize  the  good  things  of  life  in  a  worW 
wl«re  they  seemed  to  be  free. 

v.rc«"*''  ^  """i^^  understand  little  of  the  con- 
S-I  ''S::^T^^"'^'''^P°'-h.  Armenian, 
j^zecn— 1  knew  they  were  talk  ng  of  jobs  and 
bosses  m  relation  to  politics  and  ?he  big  things 

=n!i^"u*'"'  '""*?"  ^■*''  ^bem  guys  at  Albany 

:;;tUws-T"  ^'^  ^'^^^ ''°"'  --  -- 

DlaTnt"  Tf  *'"'  ''"*'?T  '^^  ^'^^  ^='s  the  com- 
plaint. It  was  one  of  the  two  main  blends  in  the 
current  of  dissatisfaction.  The  other  blend^was 
the  conviction  that  if  those  who  had  the  power 
d.dnt  nght  self-evident  wrongs,  the  tronred 


i!'i 


i 
M 

'11 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

would  someliow  have  to  right  themselves.  There 
was  no  speechmaking,  no  stump  oratory,  after 
the  manner  of  a  Celtic  or  Anglo-Saxon  crowd;  all 
was  smothered,  sullen,  burning,  secretive,  and 
intense. 

On  our  way  back  to  the  cavern  the  Finn  re- 
marked: 

"No  iTsiin  doesn't  mind  work.  He'd  rather 
work  than  loaf,  even  if  he  was  paid  for  loafin'. 
What  he  can't  stick  is  not  havin'  room  to  grow 
in,  bein'  squeezed  into  undersize,  like  a  Chinese 
woman's  foot." 

After  all,  I  reflected,  this  might  be  the  real 
limbo,  not  only  of  the  working-man,  but  of  all  the 
dissatisfied  in  all  ranks  throughout  the  world — 
the  denials  of  the  liberty  to  expand.  Mildred 
Averill  was  rebelling  against  it  in  her  way  as 
much  as  the  Finn  in  his,  as  much  as  any  Jew  or 
Pole  or  Italian  in  all  the  crowd  surging  back  at 
that  minute  to  the  dens  from  which  they  had 
come  out.  Discontent  was  not  confined  to  any 
one  class  or  to  any  one  set  of  needs.  Custom, 
convention,  and  greed  had  clamped  our  energies 
round  and  round  as  with  iron  hoops,  till  all  but 
the  few  among  us  had  lost  the  right  to  grow.  It 
wasn't  a  question  of  pay;  it  wasn't  primarily  a 
question  of  money  at  all,  though  the  question  of 
money  was  involved  in  it.  More  than  anything 
else,  it  was  one  of  a  new  orientation  toward  every- 
thing, with  a  shifring  of  basic  principles.  The 
first  must  become  last  and  the  last  must  become 
first — not  in  the  detail  of  precedence  but  in  that 
196 


■"   II 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

which  civilization  hldlh^'t  Cl^^T'Z  ^"^ 
free  a.r  to  which  they  w«e  ,3'  *^,^''*'  »>~ad. 
between  labor  and  capSl  was  a'  J  i^'V^'* 
tween  tiind  men.    It  was  blnff  t  '^"*'  ''*- 

by  those  on  both  sides  wL  ""r*'"  '"^^^ 
the  ax  to  the  ^t  S  the  f«e  j^f  "' V?  P« 
so  eloquent  to  me  of  th^  k!.  t       •    *y"'''°'  ^as 

buma^  element'rChuth  a^fen  ^'l^''-  ^''^ 
the  spirit  of  man  as  the  Kin^  *^  ^^^  *^''^'"«' 
Chinese  womanVfoJt  '  ^'"P'rison  of  the 

a  jS5rhatni51rhTto'rJl,Tr  ^^^^^   •Jo'-ar  and 
a  dog,  was  as  meek  as  a  m       ''  '^^  T^''^^  ^^^^ 
no  labor  .«t  inw  my  nut "l  /'m"!.*'    •'I^"'^  «« 
iob.as  a  regular  tS^^B^t  b     ±?  '^f'^'" 
begmnmg  to  understand  K;1.      t  l  """*  ^  ''as 
called  him  a  terrier  "^".T'-    ^l'"'*^*'  ''"'•eady 
terrier's  bark,  but  'J"u^     *""•".''*'  ^''^'  ^«h  a 
friendliness      K^oup^VedT'^t  ^""'^=*'"*"*»J 
t?il.     True,   he  wagged   it   SZ'lf '  7'^'^  ''« 
«ously,  and  with  aTnd  Lvf    u'^^^^'    ""8"" 
i^ow  he  was  wagging"" It  a^I 'V^  V?  ''•''"'' 
he  did  wag  it  wafen'oih  fofme  "'  *''  '^"  ^''^ 

It  was  enough  for  us  all      tL 
man  among  the  "luggers"  wh^T.^"^^*  "°*  '^ 
«and  him,  nor  among^the  sa7esme„    "  K  ""'^"- 
came  to  understand  "'"men  either,  as  I 

--.uaretalkofX^^tL^SiK;'^;; 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 


Its 


'■'  p « 


■  if 

'I '  i 


can  put  it  into  our  talk  and  make  it  mane  some- 
thin'.  Wance  I  was  at  a  circus  where  a  monkey 
what  looked  like  a  little  ould  man  talked  his  kind 
o'  talk,  and  it  made  sinse.  Well,  that's  like  the 
Floater.  He's  like  the  monkey  what  can't  talk 
nothin'  but  monkey-talk;  but  glory  be  to  God! 
he  manes  the  same  thing  as  a  man.  Don't  ye 
moind  him,  Brogan.  When  he  talks  his  talk,  you 
talk  it  to  yerself  in  yer  own  talk,  and  ye'l.'.  i,.ape 
yer  timper  and  get  everything  straight." 

This  kindly  advice  was  given  me  by  Denis  Gal- 
livan,  the  oldest  of  the  porters,  and  a  sort  of  dean 
of  our  corps.  Small,  wiry,  as  strong  as  a  horse, 
with  a  wizened,  leathery  face  that  looked  as  if 
it  had  been  dried  and  tanned  in  a  hot  sunshine, 
there  was  a  yearning  in  his  blue-black  eyes  like 
that  which  some  of  the  old  Italian  masters  put 
into  the  eyes  of  saints.  Denis,  Bridget,  and  the 
Finn  composed  what  I  may  call  the  permanent 
staiF,  the  two  others,  excluding  myself,  being  in- 
variably restless  chaps  who,  like  Clancy,  came 
for  a  few  weeks  and  went  off  again.  With  the 
three  workers  named  I  made  a  fourth,  henceforth 
helping  to  carry  the  responsibility  of  the  house 
on  my  shoulders. 

It  was  a  good  place,  with  pleasant  work.  Two 
or  three  times  I  could  have  had  promotion  and 
a  raise  in  pay,  but  I  had  reasons  of  my  own  for 
staying  where  I  was. 

My  duties  being  simple,  I  enjoyed  the  sheer 
physical  exertion  I  was  obHged  to  make.  Arriv- 
ing about  seven  in  the  morning  I  helped  to  sweep 
198 


TOE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
nieht      Tf  ♦1,0.    ""^""gs  tiiat  had  lain  out  over- 

St' " -'^.  """Vr  s'ljj 

sixty  feet  Ions  bvtM^V'^'j  ."'"**  ''^^e  ^^een 
nity  and  'ui«  of  alUh  ^^^'  .'"^  ^  "''''*  *''«  dig- 
rule,  we  were  on  the  fl      '"f^"'?^'*"'  t^^t"-    As  a 

generally  ^fterteiifor    ^  "'""'  '''''"8''  «  ^" 

Duri,g[hathourof  sptetrme"^  '^  '"""T^'' 
together  at  the  farth?/  ?  T  P""««  ''""g 
tones  the  LSfp  orJhe  T'  ^'"'^^^.'^e  in  low 

experiencesnrdltLg\V;t'a^''tr"''' 

join  with  us,  but  forX  J2''  =°'''l--ndi"gly 
kept  to  the„;se^i.  treatinethe''''"  "''  "?'""«=" 
a  higher  point  of  vi^^  Si!,  'P^^°P''=='  f'"" 
little  more  than  Sr  u^f^' "{^^V'^P^s  did 
Fifth  Avenue,  cross  t'  th«V  a""""  ,^«°''  '■^°'" 
we  scarcely  sawThe  '  f^  °?''^>?'  "'^'"^  ^^^^ 
at  will  betwee^us  aL  t^"  ^  ^^e  Floater  moved 
freedom  to  be  ^  2n  if"'  ^-''^  =»  ''"'«  dog's 
the  dZZ,::,^^  ''  *"""•= '"  ^''^  "'ble  and 

rivti^f^xir  Th:lr"^^  '^:?'''--'*''  ^^  - 

usiomers.     l  hey  entered  with  diffidence 
199  > 


m 


-r 


'^m 


■m 


'B 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

confused  by  the  subdued  brilliance  of  the  Persian 
and  Chinese  colors  hanging  on  our  Tvalls,  by  the 
wide  empty  spaces,  and  their  own  ignorance  of 
what  they  came  in  search  of. 

"There's  not  tin  women  in  New  York  '11  know 
the  difference  betwane  a  Kirmanshah  and  an 
Anatolia,"  Denis  said  to  me  one  day,  "and  it  'd 
make  ye  sorry  for  thim  when  they  comes  to  fur- 
nishin'.^  Glory  be  to  God,  they'll  walk  in  here 
knowin'  no  more  than  that  they  want  rugs,  and 
it's  all  wan  to  thim  what  ye  puts  before  thim  so 
.long  as  it's  the  color  they  like  and  it  lays  on  the 
ground.  If  this  wasn't  the  honestest  house  that 
the  Lord  ever  made  there'd  be  chatin'  till  we  was 
all  in  danger  o' hellfire." 

But  in  spite  of  this  ignorance,  we  received  our 
visitors  courteously,  a  salesman  going  forward 
to  meet  all  newcomers  and  conducting  them  to 
the  row  of  reproduced  Louis  Seize  cane-bottomed 
chairs  placed  for  their  convenience.  Then  it 
would  be,  "Bridget,  bring  that  Khorassan— 3246, 
you  know,  that  fine  specimen."  And  Bridget 
would  know,  and  call  the  Finn  to  help  him  lay 
it  out.  Or  it  would  be,  "Brogan,  can  you  find 
the  Meshed  that  came  in  yesterday — 2947?  I 
think  madam  would  like  to  see  it."  On  this 
Denis  and  I  would  haul  out  the  big  carpet,  stretch 
it  at  the  lady's  feet,  listen  to  comments  which, 
as  Denis  put  it,  had  the  value  of  a  milliner's  crit- 
icism of  the  make  of  a  "  floyin'-machine,"  and 
eventually  carry  it  back  to  the  pile  whence  we  had 
taken  it.    I  may  say  here  that  for  customers  we 

200 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

^i2;';=^;^:^-^e  point  ofW 

Sehn^L'^t  fror:S«;^S;;;!'«  -f  ten  a 
fuUv     "n;j,  ^enis  asked,  scorn- 

turned  up  whomTLwf  ^^  '"'P'"-  ^^  °»« 
no  one  eveT  Zl^  '  J.  "^u"  »*=*l"=»intance; 
curiosity        ^  *•*  "*  ^^  »"  «W  friend's 


r ' 


{  I! 


■L 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

man  requires.  Little  by  little  I  accommodated 
myself  to  the  outlook  of  my  surroundings,  and 
if  I  never  thought  exactly  like  my  companions 
I  found  myself  able  to  listen  to  their  views  com- 
placently. With  all  three  of  my  more  impor- 
tant co-workers — Denis,  Bridget,  and  the  Finn — 
my  relations  were  cordial,  a  fact  due  largely  to 
their  courteous  respect  for  my  private  history, 
into  which  none  of  them  ever  pried.  Like  Lydia, 
Drinkwater,  and  every  one  else,  they  took  it  for 
granted  that  there  was  something  I  wanted  to 
hide,  and  allowed  me  to  hide  it. 

In  this  way  I  passed  the  end  of  the  year  1916, 
the  whole  of  1917,  and  all  of  1918  up  to  the  begin- 
ning of  December.  Thou-'*',  the  country  had  in 
the  mean  time  gone  to  war  it  made  little  differ- 
ence to  us.  Denis  was  too  old  to  be  drafted; 
Bridget  and  the  Finn  were  exempted  as  fathers 
of  large  families;  I  was  examined,  and,  for  reasons 
I  do  not  yet  understand,  rejected.  I  should  have 
made  a  very  good  fighting  man;  but  I  think  I 
was  looked  upon  as  of  weak  or  uncertain  men- 
tality. 

During  all  those  months  I  courted  the  obscurity 
so  easy  to  find.  Between  Creed  &  Creed's  and 
my  squint-eyed  room  with  the  fungi  on  the  man- 
telpiece I  went  by  what  you  might  call  the  back 
ways,  in  order  to  risk  no  meeting  with  Mildred 
Averill  or  her  family.  Since  they  frequented  the 
neighboring  book  store,  one  of  the  best  known 
in  New  York,  they  might  at  some  time  see  me 
going  in  or  out,  and  so  I  kept  to  the  direction  of 
202 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
afraid  of.  ^''*'  ""  ""^  e'se  to  be 

Toward  th.  gre„  ^caitna  of  life  ilr„..  '  ™' 

that  the  universe  was  filled  with  a  creat  Will      j 


}1 


i:i 


H 


CHAPTER  VI 


■.  »^ 


ON  the  morning  of  the  eleventh  of  December, 
1918,  I  had  been  in  the  basement  helping 
to  unpack  a  consignment  just  come  in  from  India, 
as  I  had  first  done  two  years  before.  I  had,  there- 
fore, not  known  what  passed  on  the  floor  above 
during  the  forenoon,  and  should  have  been  little 
interested  had  I  been  there.  What  I  needed  to 
know  the  Floater  told  me  when  I  appeared  after 
lunch  to  take  my  shift  on  the  main  floor  with 
Bridget  and  the  Finn. 

"You're  to  go  with  the  two  lads  down-stairs" — 
the  two  of  our  six  porters  who  were  always  tran- 
sient— "to  this  number  in  East  Seventy-sixth 
Street,  and  show  the  big  Chinee  antique,  4792, 
and  the  modem  Chinee,  3628,  to  a  lady  that's 
stayin'  there,  and  explain  to  her  the  diflperence 
between  them.  She'll  take  the  new  one  if  she 
thinks  it's  just  as  good,  and  you're  to  show  her 
that  it  isn't.  She's  not  the  lady  of  the  house. 
Her  name  is  Mrs.  Mountney,  and  she  comes  from 
Boston.  She  saw  them  both  this  morning,  but 
said  she  couldn't  judge  till  she'd  viewed  'em 
private." 

it  was  not  an  unusual  expedition,  though  it 
204 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

ant  free-masonry  of  caste  hi;     c?  ,  ^""^  P'"*" 
with  our  burden^  we  ZZ        ^^^^  *°  •"''  =' 

that  Mrs.  Mtzzi7dvz:^,^z:tfi:^' 
thiii^KtrtLtrotL''' '""  •".' ''--  «f 


f   ' 


It 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

the  dining-room,  I  thought  I  saw  a  stocky  figure 
grope  its  way  with  the  kind  of  movement  I  had 
not  seen  since  the  last  time  I  had  met  Drinkwater. 
A  door  opened  and  closed  somewhere,  and  before 
we  reached  the  music-room  I  heard  the  distant 
click  of  a  typewriter. 

That  I  was  nervous  goes  without  sajring,  but 
there  were  so  many  chances  of  my  fear  being 
groundless  that  I  did  my  best  to  dismiss  it.  The 
music-room  was  simple,  spacious,  white-and-gold, 
admirably  adapted  not  only  to  the  purpose  it 
served  but  to  that  which  had  brought  us  there. 
When  our  carpets  were  spread  they  made  a  mag- 
nificent gold  spot  in  the  center  of  a  sumptuous 
emptiness. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  nice  little  bit  of  fluff 
tripped  in,  justifying  the  deocription.  She  was 
one  of  those  instances,  of  which  we  saw  a  good 
many  among  our  customers,  where  a  merciful 
providence  had  given  a  great  deal  of  money  to 
some  one  who  would  have  been  quite  too  insignifi- 
cant without  it.  A  worn  fairness  of  complexion 
was  supplemented  by  cosmetics,  and  an  inade- 
quate stock  of  very  blond  hair  arranged  in  artistic 
disarray  in  order  to  make  the  most  of  it.  To 
offset  the  laces  and  pearls  of  an  elaborate  negli- 
gee by  a  "democratic"  manner,  and  so  put  poor 
working-men  at  their  ease,  she  nodded  to  us  in 
a  friendly,  offhand  way,  saying,  briskly: 

"  Now  then !  Let's  see  I  Which  is  the  modem 
one  and  which  is  the  antique?  I  can't  tell;  can 
you?"  Looking  at  me  archly,  she  changed  her 
206 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
tone  to  the  chaflbg  one  which  the  French  describe 
«  blagu^ur.    "But  of  course  you'U^y  yoTTa^ 
because  that's  your  business.    You've  «tth^' 
marked  with  some  sort  of  secret  sign  Jik^a  c^T 
jurer  wnh  coins,  so  as  to  tell  one  fro^  he  otW 
without  my  knowing  it."  «='«""  tne  other, 

thf '.S*  "'*"  '•''?'.  '•"'  ''*«'"  *°  ™«<A  round 
the  two  great  gold-covered  oblonits  with   fh« 

whilf.K         A  """^  ^'^'^''y'  I  Vomttd  out  tha? 

^e  o±  T*^'"*  '?"^*'  '"'"''*  P'«^=«*«  the  ordinal 
eye  only  the  antique  would  satisfy  the  el«^ 
There  was  no  question  but  that  the  Indian^ 

would  do  more  than  get  his  money's  worth,  since 
It  would  tone  down  with  the  years    whi LfTh! 
hard  wool  of  which  it  .as  wovef^ould  ie  j 
«and  comparatively  rough  usage.     But-X„'t 
madam  see.?-^e  antique,  made%n  the^Chi 

ParteiT:r"^°^''?\*°'^^''  "^^er  sheen  im- 
parted by  the  softer,  ncher  wool;  and  wasn't  the 

heavenly  turquois^blue  of  the  ornaments  ^md 
border  of  a  beauty  which  the  modem  dyes  d 
not  begun  to  reproduce.? 

ist^,  l^^'^^'^f  this  and  some  other  character- 
W     T^^'  ^  ^•''  '"°te  or  less  talking  against 
time      The  suspicion  that  had  seized  me  on  enier 
mg  the  house  began  to  deepen,  without  my"  W?" 

"Y-yes;    y-yes,"  the  little  lady  agreed-    "it 
^s  lovely,  isn't  it.?    And  I  suppose  that Fy'ou're 
buying  a  good  thing  it's  better  to  get  di3 
207 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

She  paused,  looking  out  through  the  great 
doorway  into  the  hall.  I,  too,  looked  out,  to 
see  Mrs.  AveriU  in  a  tea-gown,  gazing  in  at  us 
distraitly. 

"Oh,  Lulu,  do  come  here.  This  man,  this 
gentleman,  has  just  been  telling  me  the  most 
interesting  things — " 

She  trailed  into  the  music-room  with  the  same 
graceful  languor  with  which  she  had  trailed  into 
the  drawing-room  on  the  occasion  when  we  had 
last  met.  The  two  other  porters  and  myself  be- 
ing negligible  figures  in  the  room,  her  almond 
eyes  rested  listlessly  on  the  rugs,  which  she  stud- 
ied without  remark. 

"Lulu,"  Mrs.  Mountney  began  again,  with 
animation,  "did  you  know  that  in  Persian  rugs 
the  designs  are  outlined  in  rows  of  knots,  and  in 
Chinese  by  clipping  with  the  scissors?  eiseli, 
this  ma — this  gentleman  calls  it,  and  you  can 
feel  a  little  linel    Do  put  your  hand  down." 

"Oh,  I'm  too  tired,"  Mrs.  AveriU  protested, 
in  her  sweet  drawling  voice,  "and  this  room's  so 
stdFy.  Mildred  said  she'd  have  it  aired;  but 
I  don't  know  what  she's  mooning  over  half  her 
time.  She's  so  dreamy.  I  often  think  she  ought 
to  be  in  a  convent,  or  something  Uke  that." 

The  little  bit  of  fluiF  was  more  interested  in 
rugs  than  in  Mildred. 

"  Do  tell  Mrs.  AveriU— I'm  staying  with  her— 

what  you've  just  been  saying  about  the  wool. 

Did  you  know.  Lulu,  that  I;  dian  wool  is  hard  and 

Chinese  soft?"    She  looked  ac  .in  toward  the 

ao8 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

S'^^'mSZ/   r"''  ^^J'  ^'^^  ^-^^  into 
ri  ■  •  .      •   ^''  '^"'ne  here.    There's  the 

rnos  ■  ,rt.re.nng  things-I'm  so  glad  I  went  ta 
that  place  th.s  moming^and  they've  sint  me 

th^stra^-:-r^-;n:^B. 

comrades  no  particular  attention,     h  T^  Z 

i  vtnturtd  lo  look  ,.  her  more  doi«ly.    Sho  w£ 

Deen  chiefly  a  sympathetic  common  sense  there 
was  now  the  beauty  that  comes  of  elevatTn 
Lucbly  for  me  Mrs.  Mountney  ran  on  ^hile 

t£n,  ''t'"    '^•""r"^'    remained   iLdit 
trnguishable  objects  m  the  background. 

I  hats  the  modem  and  that's  the  antique; 


rrsK 


hn 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

and  I'ln  sure  no  one  but  a  rug-man  could  tell  the 
difference  between  them.  This  man — this  gen- 
tleman— says  they  can,  but  that's  only  business. 
Hundreds  of  dollars  difference  in  the  price,  almost 
as  much  as  between  a  pair  of  real  pearl  ear-rings 
and  imitation  ones.  What  do  you  say,  Mildred  ? 
Would  anybody  ever  notice — ?" 

"I  suppose  you'd  be  buying  the  best  because 
it's  the  best,  and  not  because  any  one  would 
notice — " 

"I  should  be  buying  it  for  what  every  one 
would  see.  What's  the  good  of  having  a  thing 
if  it  doesn't  show  what  it  is?  I  hate  the  way 
some  people  have  of  calling  your  attention  to 
■every  fine  thing  they've  got  in  the  house,  as  if  you 
■weren't  used  to  fine  things  of  your  own.  If  I've 
got  to  tell  every  one  that  that's  a  genuine  old 
Chinese  masterpiece  before  they  notice  it — well, 
it  isn't  worth  it.  But  at  the  same  time  the  effect 
is  richer;  and  some  jteople  do  know,  and  talk 
about  it  to  other  people  who  know — there's  that 
to  consider." 

By  this  time  I  was  conscious  of  something 
•else. 

Having  got  through  so  many  minutes  without 
recognition  I  was  beginning  to  hope  that,  by  blot- 
ting myself  out,  as  it  were,  between  my  fellow- 
workmen  I  might  finally  escape  detection.  No 
one  had  as  yet  dissociated  any  of  us  from  another, 
the  very  absence  of  personality  on  our  part  re- 
'ducing  us  to  the  place  of  mere  machines.  As 
a  mere  machine  Mrs.  Averill  and  Mildred  might 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

anywhere      H^tjn    l,^i    ?  ""^ht  be  traveling 
me  ^,  .h    t       T^  '''•''  **•«  opportunity  to  look 

against  which  they  leaned  ^'""^  P'=»"°' 

Sly  jlnStLV?""'"""'  T  ^'^'y  ""» 

G7™,?.^&rf '"''■'"°"'"""'  -«* 


«    ,1    !  I 


m  ^ 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Not  till  she  reached  the  comer  of  the  long  car- 
pet did  she  give  me  the  first  clear,  straightfor- 
ward look.  That  recognition  did  not  come  in- 
stantly told  me  that  I,  too,  must  have  changed. 
Laborious  work  and  a  rough  way  of  living  had 
doubtless  aged  and  probably  hardened  me.  I 
was  dressed,  too,  like  any  other  working-man, 
though  with  the  tidiness  which  our  position  on 
the  selling  floor  exacted.  A  working-man  in  his 
Sunday  clothes  would  perhaps  have  described  me, 
while  my  features  must  have  adapted  themselves 
to  altered  inward  conditions  with  the  facility 
which  features  possess. 

"Is  it  really  you?" 

She  was  standing  in  front  of  me  now,  singling 
me  out  from  the  two  boys  who  had  fallen  a  little 
back.  She  didn't  offer  to  shake  hands;  perhaps 
she  wasn't  sure  enough  of  my  identity;  but  that 
the  circumstances  in  which  she  found  me  made 
no  difference  to  her  was  the  one  fact  apparent. 
Any  emotion  she  may  have  felt  was  expressed  in 
the  quiver  of  a  faint  smile. 

"I  hoped  you  wouldn't  recognize  me,"  was  all 
I  found  to  sav. 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  for  ail  the  reasons  that — ^that  almost  any- 
body would  see  at  a  glance," 

"Perhaps  I'm  not — ^not  almost  anybody." 

"No;  you're  not." 

"Have  you  been  doing  this  ever  since — ?" 

I  nodded.  "It's  the  job  I  told  you  I  might 
get.    I  did  get  it;  and  so — " 

212 


Ml 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"Have  you  liked  it?" 
"Extremely." 

«"i[?  ***"  *™^'  *"■  "  "  just—?" 
Tk  ^°5  'f  s  true.    I  could  have  had  better  iobs 

salesman;  you  may  remember  that  I  knew  a  good 
"For  what  reason?" 

"To  find  your  soul?" 

"Possibly." 

"And  have  you  found  it?" 

•t-rmrs^uro';:"""'""^-''""''^ ---''«•»- 

All  this  was  said  within  the  space  of  nerhans 

tumeJ^h"'  K^T"'"'^-'   '''^"'^   ^hom    Mildred 
turned  her  back,  puttmg  their  heads  together  in 

.        r/L  ".^""S''''  •*"*  't  '^«  enough  to  put 
even  Mildred  Averill  on  a  secondary  pUne    '^ 

Uh,  I  m  not  sure  of  that.  I  only  feel  that  I've 
found-something  I  „ea„  that  Jometlg  hl^ 
come^  or  gone.  I'm  not  sure  of  which;    onty 

213 


t  Ifl 


Ml 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Mrs.  Mountney  wheeled  suddenly  from  the 
piano,  trotting  back  to  the  edge  of  the  carpet, 
across  which  she  spoke  to  me. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  Copley's  great  portrait 
of  Jasper  Soames?" 

I  nodded,  speechlessly.  I  had  heard  of  it.  In 
my  mind's  eye  I  saw  it,  at  the  head  of  a  great 
staircase,  a  full-length  figure,  wearing  ^ee- 
breeches  of  bottle-green  satin,  a  gold-embroidered 
waistcoat,  and  a  long  coat  of  ruby  velvet  with 
a  Russian  sable  collar  falling  back  almost  to  the 
shoulders.  A  plate  let  into  the  foot  of  the  frame 
bore  the  name  Jasper  Soames,  with  the  dates  of 
a  birth  and  a  death.  Somewhere  in  my  life  the 
picture  had  been  a  familiar  object. 

I  had  no  time  to  follow  up  this  discovery  before 
Mrs.  Mountney  began  again: 

"Are  you  one  of  his  descendants?" 

"No;  but  my  wife  is." 

The  reply  came  out  before  I  realized  its  signifi- 
cance. I  hardly  knew  what  I  had  said  till  I  heard 
Lulu  Averill  exclaim  with  as  much  indignation  as 
her  indolent  tones  could  carry: 

"  But  you  told  my  husband  that  you  were  not 
a  married  man!    Didn't  he,  Mildred?" 

The  situation  was  so  unexpected  tha't  I  felt  my- 
self like  a  bird  swinging  in  a  cage.  Nothing  was 
steady;  everything  around  me  seemed  to  whirl. 
Then  I  heard  Mildred  speaking  as  if  her  voire 
reached  me  through  a  poor  connection  on  a  tele- 
phone. 

"Oh,  that  didn't  matter.  I  knew  he  was  mar- 
214 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Wh^^'l-ff""^'*  '*=.''"  ^  ^«  Pr«ty  sure  of  it 
What  drfference  could  it  make  to  us?" 

It  made  the  difference,"  Mrs  Avprill  Jr,™i  j 

peevishly,  "that  we  belie;ed  him  "  ^'"^' 

But  Mrs.  Mountney  intervened,  waving  the 

earned      "Tf  '^^^'*/'  ""^  ''«='•'»  a-^^-ss  the 

carpet.       If  you  married  a  descendant  of  Tasner 
Soames  then  it  was  Violet  TorrancT."     "^    "^ 

The  mist  that  had  hitherto  enshrined  two  flam- 
nig  eyes  seemed  to  part  as  if  ton,  by  lightnL^ 
The  figure  disclosed  was  not  static  like  that  of 
Jasper  Soames.  but  alive  as  the  sky  i    alive  Lf 

her     M  '  ^.='V''"  "^'"y  ^f«  -'  I  had  l«t  seen 
her.     My  mmd  resumed  its  action  at  the  noi^t 

fa«snou«ri?S?---^^"«^- 
I  could  only  bend  my  head  in  assent. 

inats  my  name. 
"Then  why— why — ?" 

I  ,.f^A^'"'Mi''"  ^  •"'^''  ''P""'  "nahle  to  continue 
Lu  u  AveriU,  movmg  with  the  tread  of  a  tkres^ 
stalkmg  silently,  stole  down  from  the  pianoS  th^ 
edge  of  the  carpet.  Mildred's  eyes  as  she  stSt 
faced  me  were  all  amber-colored  fire.     I  was  W^e 

troXd^dtr  '''  '"*'™^«  ^'-  "  ^^'^ 
bod!*^h!.^"-  ^°"™'«y  dragged  her  laces  across 
.'t^e^iS^^^^^^^^       -  ^-  -  f-.  stand! 
Do  you  know  who  I  am  f " 

2IS 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

I  shook  my  head. 

"I'm  Alice  Tarporley." 

"Oh  yes!  You  were  a  friend  of  Vio's  before 
we  were  married.  I've  heard  her  speak  of  you; 
but  you  lived  in  Denver." 

"I  went  back  to  Boston  only  two  years  ago, 
when  poor  Vio  was  in  such  trouble  because  you 
were — "  She  cried  out,  with  another  wide  motion 
of  the  arms:  "In  the  name  of  God,  man,  what 
does  it  all  mean?" 

But  I  couldn't  go  into  explanations.  I  didn't 
know  where  to  begin. 

"Tell  me  first  how  Vio  is — ^where  she  is." 

"She  was  perfectly  well  the  day  before  yester- 
day, and  at  your  own  house  in  Boston.  But 
don't  you  know,  don't  you  know — ?  Why,  this 
is  too  awful!  The  more  I  think  of  it  the  more 
awful  it  becomes.     Don't  you  know — ?" 

"I — I  don't  know  anything." 

She  got  it  out  at  last. 

"Don't  you  know — Vio  thinks  you're — ^you're 
dead?" 

Iron  clampings  seemed  to  press  me  round  the 
ribs. 

"No;  I  didn't  know  that.  What  made  her 
think  so?" 

"Who  wouldn't  think  so?  You  were  reported 
missing — and  when  weeks  went  by — and  no  news 
of  you — and  then,  when  your  uniform  was  found 
on  the  bank  of  that  river,  near  Tours,  wasn't  it? 
and  your  papers  in  the  pockets — and  your  letter 
of  credit,  and  everything —  And  here  you  are 
216 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
«'.  «K,U8h  ,o  drive  »,bod,ti;  ?.""■'    *''■• 

si»''^nr.»"5'£Ls'".s  •{«-■■ 

go  straieht  hart  t„      ""^^^ss.       i.ulu,  I  must 

there?  I  hafe  night  travel^^j''%'"°™'"8' .'''»'* 
and  I  have  a  headach'In^h"  ^  ""^T  *'**P' 
what's  that  when-?  If  vlh  ""u-  ^r'^"''" 
one  b„t-»  She  turned  "io  t^'a^ '~.« 
njasjme  that  you'd  been  seenT New  Sk 

^^  ;TossibIy;  I  don't  know  what  you're  referring 
«  w..  jW  Ae  S  Jf!r  »"■' "  'k""!!!"  that 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

She  wrung  her  hands.  "Oh,  dearl  When  a 
man's  dead,  he'd  better  stay  dead!" 

Mildred  slipped  from  the  room.  A  suspicion 
began  to  creep  over  me. 

"Is  there  any  special  reason  for  my  staying 
dead?" 

"How  can  you  when  you're  alive?  That's  the 
important  point.  Vio  will  never  forgive  you  for 
being  alive — and  not  telling  her." 

"She  will  when  she's  heard." 

"She's  got  to  hear  right  away,  and  I'm  going 
to  take  charge  of  it.  You  may  say  it's  none  of 
my  business,  but  I'm  making  it  mine.  I've 
known  Vio  Torrance  since  we  were  tots  together." 

I  Ventured  to  remind  her  that  Vio  might  be 
her  friend,  but  that  she  was  my  wife. 

"Wifel"  she  crowed,  scornfully.  "Have  you 
treated  her  like  a  wife — to  be  alive  all  this  time 
and  never  let  her  know!  When  I  tell  you  that 
she's  been  in  mourning  for  you  and  out  again — 
positively  out  again —    Well,  you  can  imagine  1" 

"  I  can  imagine  so  many  things — " 

But  she  jerked  her  little  person  away  from  me 
toward  the  two  fellows  who  were  trying  dully  to 
follow  the  scene  they  were  witnessing  without 
being  able  to  seize  its  drift. 

"Take  all  this  stuff  back  again  to  where  you 
brought  it  from.  I'm  not  going  to  buy  any  of  it. 
The  idea  of  Billy  Harrowby — "  She  repeated 
the  name  with  a  squeal,  "  Billy  Harrowby!  of  all 
people  in  the  world!  Why,  it's  enough  to  drive 
me  out  of  my  senses.  I  suppose  you  don't  know," 
ai8 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

seum.  over  a  ^eaT  ^^  ',"  r"'  ?'"'"  "  ^''^  ^u- 
Vio  has  Zt/them^i^  Frenchman;  and  that 

for  a  ^StZX'ZS^t^^'T 
she  called  it— she  haH  J /^^'"oriai— that  s  what 
after  your  t^cend  t°  ^'"""h.ng  of  the  sort 
you  consfdered  ,  K  ''°'"T'  ''«='="<=3'5  ""d 
Brookrand  ^an  c  ""'  '°'"r'''"«  «'''  ^"Pe" 
be-andyou2^"Tdr:l;°"  "''"'''  "^° 

When  the  "'"'  rf-  '«^'"  ^^l'""  thinldnP- 

o«7s?i''irt  :„Tc5l'/u^^'  -' 

merely:  ^  colleagues,  saying 

"I  think  we'd  better  roll  these  up  and  beat  it  " 

oneofthemsai^i„a;?^^:,lf,Jr^^^^^^^^ 


CHAPTER  VII 


TVO  mornings  later  I  was  in  Boston,  sitting 
in  the  lobby  of  one  of  the  great  hotels.  I 
had  come  by  order  of  a  telegram  from  my  brother- 
in-law,  WolJF Torrance.  A  note  handed  me  on  my 
arrival,  late  the  previous  evening,  requested  me 
to  wait  for  him  before  attempting  to  see  Violet. 
From  her  I  had  had  nothing. 

I  had  come  as  I  was,  with  the  hundred  and 
thirty  dollars  of  my  savings  in  my  pocket,  but 
without  taking  the  time  to  dress  otherwise  than 
in  my  working-man's  best.  Examining  myself 
closely,  now  that  I  was  face  to  face  with  my  old 
life  again,  I  could  see  that  by  imperceptible  de- 
grees my  whole  appearance  had  taken  on  those 
shades  which  distinguish  the  working-man  from 
men  in  more  sophisticated  walks  in  life.  Vio 
Harrowby  as  the  wife  of  a  working-man,  or  of 
any  one  looking  like  a  working-man,  was  an  in- 
conceivable image. 

My  leaving  New  York  had  been  made  simpler 
for  me  than  I  could  have  ventured  to  hope. 
Whatever  the  tale  told  by  the  lads  who  had  ac- 
companied me  to  East  Seventy-sixth  Street,  it 
had  awed  the  luggers,  impressed  the  salesmen, 
and  reached  the  ears  of  the  Olympian  gods.  It 
was  not  often,  I  fancy,  that  Creed  &  Creed's 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
So  Ions  as  I  diHn V  ^  ?"«ocratic  misdoings. 

versation,  while  one  or  Sf  X.        '^''''  ~"- 
errands  into  the  shL  „„  '^  Partners  made 

to  get  a  Wk  atm?  °!^P"P°«'  =»»  I  surmised, 
cou^  HaMtL^/d  drItSrhTFI   ^"^ 

thrterchtej^dta^^hi^a^^^^^^^ 

for  my  inspection  °**"*'  *''em 

»inIJ,'l,l„Try.""-  ""  -"'  ■»»'."  I  -J- 

221 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

It  was  natural  for  him  to  hide  his  curiosity 
under  a  veil  of  sputtering  disdain. 

"Thought  it'd  be.  Never  did  take  stock  in 
that  damfool  name  you  give  when  you  first  come 
here.  'Twa'n't  fit  for  a  dog  or  a  horse — and  you 
gob'  just  as  easy  by  the  name  o'  Brogan. 
Couldn't  any  one  see?" 

As  to  what  any  one  could  see  I  didn't  inquire, 
being  too  eager  to  open  my  telegram.  Though 
I  scarcely  hoped  that  it  could  be  from  Vio  my 
heart  sank  a  little  when  I  saw  that  it  was  not. 

"Come  at  once.  Stay  at  the  Normandy. 
Wait  for  me  before  seeing  Violet.  Explanations 
expected.  J.  DeWolfe  Torrance." 

The  spirit  of  the  letter  was  different.  Bearing 
neither  formal  beginning  nor  signature,  it  was 
dated  from  the  house  in  East  Seventy-sixth  Street. 

"I  am  so  glad  for  your  sake.  Though  I  do  not 
understand,  I  have  confidence.  I  have  always 
had  confidence — ^without  understanding.  Some 
day,  perhaps,  you  will  tell  me;  but  that  shall  be 
as  you  please.  Just  now  I  only  want  you  to  know 
that  almost  from  the  beginning  of  our  acquaint- 
ance I  thought  you  had  a  wife.  I  can't  tell  you 
how  or  why  the  conviction  was  borne  in  on  me; 
but  it  was.  Possibly  I  was  interested  in  you  for 
her  sake  a  little,  with  that  kind  of  secret  sister- 
hood which  more  or  less  binds  all  women  together, 
and  which  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  small  mu- 

323 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
tual  irritations  we  classify  as  feline.     In  any  case 

ferences  drawn  from  what  I  do.     My  weab,'"' 

T;n       "^  n°"'''  ""'^  '"■"1'  through  all. 

T.II  one  shaU  crown  thee,  far  in  fhe  spiritual 

easier"  'p!!!\l°*^'  "'"'•'  "^^  ''=='^"8  New  York 
"S»  ,        '''^  "  ""**  ^"«*="  ^tf*  that  intent 
I  ^w  ^  '^  5° '"terpret  me,"  she  had  saidTand 

a  matter  of  fact  the  new  turn  to  the  wheel  tax^ 
my  mental  resources  to  the  utmost. 

As  nearly  as  I  could  judge,  those  mental  re- 
sources were  normal  again.  Mv  r^t»Z  II  !t 
old  conditions  I  can  o'nly  comjajrrwa^ln'g 


ill; 


•ij  ;  S 


^1  '! 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

from  a  drugged  unconsciousness.  The  repair 
of  a  broken  telegraphic  or  telephonic  connection 
might  also  give  an  idea  of  what  had  taken  place 
in  me.  Re-establishment  effected,  messages  went 
simply;  that  was  all  I  could  say.  The  mental 
rest  induced  by  two  years  of  physical  exertion, 
with  little  or  no  thought  for  the  morrow  from  any 
point  of  view,  had  apparently  given  the  rup- 
tured brain  cells  the  time  to  reconstruct  them- 
selves. Physiologically  I  may  be  expressing  my- 
self inexactly;  but  that  is  of  no  moment.  What 
is  important  is  the  fact  that  from  the  instant 
when  Alice  Mountney  said,  "You're  Billy 
Harrowby,"  the  complete  function  of  the  brain 
seemed  to  be  resumed.  There  was  no  more  in 
the  nature  of  a  shock  than  there  is  in  remember- 
ing anything  else  forgotten. 

More  difficult  to  become  accustomed  to  were 
the  outward  conditions.  Having  accepted  the 
habits  of  poverty,  those  of  financial  ease  seemed 
alien.  They  were  uncomfortable,  too,  like  an 
outlandish  style  of  dress.  To  sleep  in  a  luxurious 
bed,  to  order  whatever  I  chose  for  breakfast,  was 
as  odd  for  me  as  a  reversion  to  laces  and  ruffles 
in  my  costume.  There  was  a  marvelous  thrill 
in  it,  however,  with  a  sense  of  trembling  antici- 
pation. A  soul  on  the  outer  edge  of  paradise, 
after  a  life  of  vicissitude  and  stint,  would  doubt- 
less have  some  such  vision  of  abundance  and  ' 
peace  as  that  which  filled  my  horizon. 

But  before  Christian  arrives  at  the  Celestial 
City  which  is  in  sight  he  is  reminded  that  a  few 
224 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
difficulties  remain  to  be  faced,  and  in  some  such 
light  I  regarded  the  interview  with  Wolf.    He 
came  at  last,  pushing  round  the  revolving  door! 

c^La  J«,*'' V"?"^  "^y^'-  """od  ^d  fur- 
coated,  he  had  that  air  of  diWne  right  to  all  that 
was  best  on  earth  which  was  one  of  the  quahties 

Dearable.  Perhaps  because  I  had  had  the  same 
convjcuon  about  myself  I  could  tolerale  itTs^ 

his  name,  but  more  because  he  looked  like  the 
animal.  With  a  jaw  extraordinarily  long  and 
narrow,  emphasized  rather  than  concealed  by  a 

as  faZ  "f  8'«'»n»ng  "PPer  teeth  best  described 
as  tangs.  His  small  eyes  were  at  once  eaeer 
greedy,  and  fatuous;  and  yet  there  was  that  in 
his  personality  which  stamped  him  as  of  recog- 
nized social  superiority.  In  the  same  way  thft 
a  picture  can  be  spoken  of  as  a  poor  examX  of  a 
^d  school.  Wolf  might  have  been  reckoned 
stock  T"t»^\''P*«'nen  of  a  thoroughbred 
WmHn^      uV  '''  "°*"'  J'""  ^""•'J  have  put 

corner/'  '"^°- «*"u«  '°  '•'«  ''•8»'"  *"«a  in  any 
commumty.  and  in  sheer  right  of  his  forebears  a 
member  of  the  best  among  its  clubs. 

kn™^*!  II  '^'i!?  ^""'"^  """^  "'»'^'ng  myself 
known  I  allowed  him  to  discover  me.    It  was  one 

more  P«H,f  of  my  having  changed  that  more  thL 
once  his  eye  traveled  over  me  without  recogni- 


)    1! 


u  ■ 

'■•    i 

■J  ■ 

\ 

< 

'l 

§, 

T 

THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

tion.  It  must  be  remembered  that  I  wa«  no 
longer  seedy;  I  was  only  different.  It  was  not 
the  degree  but  the  kind  that  put  him  out  of  his 
reckoning. 

When  in  the  end  he  selected  me  from  the  crowd 
it  was  rather  as  a  possibility  than  as  his  very  man. 
Coming  forward  with  that  inquiring,  and  yet 
doubtful,  air  which  people  take  on  when  scarcely 
able  to  believe  what  they  see,  he  halted  with  a 
bland,  incredulous  smile. 
"Well!" 

With  feelings  in  no  wise  different  from  those 
of  a  man  charged  with  a  crime  of  which  he  knows 
himself  guilty,  I  struggled  to  my  feet: 
"Hello,  Wolf!" 

Wolfs  small  eyes  roamed  from  my  head  to  my 
feet  and  from  my  feet  to  my  head  before  he  spoke 
again : 
"So  you've  decided  to  come  back." 
The  grin  that  accompanied  these  words  was 
partly  nervous,  but  partly  due  to  hi.  pose  of  tak- 
ing life  as  the  kind  of  joke  which  he  was  man-of- 
the^world  enough  to  appreciate. 

"As  you  see,"  I  responded,  with  a  sickly  grin 
on  my  own  part. 

In  some  lifeless  manner  we  shook  hands,  after 
which  I  asked  him  to  be  seated. 

On  his  taking  off  his  hat  I  observed  that  during 
the  three  years  and  more  since  I  had  seen  him 
last  he  had  grown  bald,  while,  with  something  of 
a  pang,  I  wondered  for  the  first  time  if  I  should 
find  a  change  in  Vio. 

336 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 


As  a  matter 


nf  f  J  T       /'/'''  «>"»«  if  I  could 
of  fact,  I  couldn't." 

"Couldn't — ^why?" 

What's  that  mean?" 

Exactly  what  it  says." 

i  hat  you  didn't  know  where  to-?" 

sh-Srlorthf?"'-  ""^''  »-^='«'  - 

"Went  dotty?" 
"If  you  like." 

onlTeru's  W'?..^"^  "'•y— hy  ''••On't  some 

caZSarSapsVJbr  *^  '"^'^^  -'^- 
'"nt-,  J' jHat  iSfl'asTkri: -^^  ""  '"" 

himself,  bit  off  the  end  Lt  !."•  *"  "  ^^  '°«^  «"«» 
carried  himsetf  as  if  Iv  ,?*'**  'I'-^"** '"  K'^"''^! 
wouldn't  matter  mucr  7P:°^^'""«  <^.°"fidences 
knowing  it  to  beTr«.-:  j  *"'^**  *''"'  ^^'^  ^^' 
and  evfr^hing  AH  that  t  '"Z^'c^  '^'^^T  one 
heshouldbebapo^iolfo  •"'''*  ^°'  ^«  **"« 
to  Violet,  in  «se7h  TsSfronr'^T"""* 
port  before  seeing  me  """«  ^"^  ">- 

"You  remember  how  I  camp  »«  » 

227 


1^ 


I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"Well,  I  didn't  do  it  of  my  own  accord.  I — I 
loathed  the  idea.  If  we'd  been  in  the  war  at  the 
time  of  course  I  should  have  done  anything  \ 
could;  but  we  were  not  in  the  war.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  if  Vio  had  only  let  me  wait  I 
could  have  been  of  more  use  in  my  own  par- 
ticular line." 

"You  mean  what  we  used  to  call  the  old-woman 
line." 

"If  you  choose  to  put  it  that  way." 

"Didn't  you  put  it  in  that  way  yourself?" 

"As  a  feeble  joke,  yes.  But  we'll  let  that  pass. 
All  I  mean  is  that  as  head  of  the  Department  of 
Textiles  in  the  Museum  of  Fine  Arts  I  knew  a  lot 
of  a  subject  that  became  of  great  importance  when 
we  went  into  the  war;  so  that,  if  Vio  had 
waited — " 

"Vio,"  he  grinned,  "was  hke  a  bunch  of  other 
women  who'd  caught  the  fever  of  sacrifice,  what  ? 
When  all  their  swell  lady  friends  in  England  and 
France  were  giving  up  their  dear  ones,  they  didn't 
want  not  to  be  in  the  swim.  Don't  think  I  didn't 
go  through  it,  old  chap.  Vio  was  simply  crazy 
to  give  up  a  dear  one.  Before  she'd  got  you  she'd 
been  after  me.  When  Hilda  Swain  drove  her 
two  sons  into  being  stokers  in  the  navy,  and 
killed  one  of  them  with  the  unaccustomed  work, 
I  thought  Vio  would  go  off  her  chump  with  a  sense 
of  her  uselessness  to  a  great  cause.  Those  were 
days  when  to  be  Vio's  dear  one  meant  to  go  in 
danger  of  your  life." 

A  hundred  memories  crowded  in  on  me. 
228 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

that  she  wanted  to  get  rid  of  me?" 
Hm  answer  struck  me  oddly. 
Not  a  bit  of  it,  not  then.    Lord,  no!" 
up    ta W   ,      '  q«««tions  these  words  called 
up.^  takmg  a   mmute  to  think  the  situation 

wfth  vS^n  J-  ri'*'^'*^/  «th"  stormy  scene 

married  a  m,      '5  '''*  ''"*'  *'''=  *''°"8ht  she  had 
marned  a  man  and  not  a  nenrous  old  lady." 

time^Uatr"'  """  "^"^  *''"  ^'^  '»^'  '«"  °f 
"Yes,  but  you  weren't  her  husband;  and  you 

werenot  desperately  in  love  with  her."  ^ 

.  Wten  thought  Vio  was  like  one  of  those  aueer 

m«ed  cocktails  that  'U  set  chaps  off  their  n^t^ 

t'r^  Vhal"  '"""^^  °f-h«ky  neat  anTne^:; 

.    "TTiere's  something  in  that,"  I  aereed-   "but 

Ihe^haH  '':  '•"'  "' """='"  whoseSempt  i 
the  harder  to  put  up  with.    When  she  began 

there  is  to  be  said  about  it.    You  tell  me  that 
Vio  wanted  to  sacrifice  a  dear  one;  and  le  did 
I  was  no  more  fit  for  the  job  I  undertook  than- 
till  the""  ""  ''°""  *''*^"  ^"^  '^^^'^  «"ed 

JnJ^t^l'^  ''"°*^"  ''''"8.     Vio  should  have  had 
more  children,  what?" 

litde^RoKr"'     ^^l  ''•*??''  ^=">*   *•'«"'•     When 
httle  Bobby  went  she  said  she  couldn't  go  through 
229  * 


ii^'l 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

it  all  a  second  time,  and  so —  But  I'm  trying  to 
tell  you  what  happened." 

"Well,  go  on." 

I  narrated  my  experiences  in  the  Ambulance 
Corps  in  words  that  have  been  so  often  given  in 
print  that  it  is  not  worth  while  to  repeat  them. 
What  has  not  so  frequently  been  recorded,  be- 
cause not  every  one  has  felt  it  to  the  same  degree, 
is  the  racking  of  spirit,  soul,  and  body  by  the  un- 
relieved horror  of  the  days  and  nights.  I  sup- 
pose I  must  own  to  being  in  regard  to  all  this  more 
delicately  constituted  than  the  majority  of  men. 
There  were  others  like  me,  but  they  were  rela- 
tively not  numerous.  Of  them,  too,  we  hear 
little,  partly  because  not  all  of  those  who  survived 
like  to  confess  the  weakness,  and  few  survived. 
If  it  were  possible  to  get  at  the  facts  I  think  it 
would  be  found  that  among  those  who  sickened 
and  died  a  large  proportion  were  predisposed 
by  sheer  inability  to  go  on  living  any  longer 
in  this  world  of  men.  I  could  give  you  the 
names  of  not  a  few  in  whom  the  soul  was 
stricken  before  the  body  was.  They  were  for 
the  most  part  sensitively  organized  fellows, 
lovers  of  the  beautiful,  and  they  simply  couldn't 
live.  Officially  their  deaths  are  ascribed  to 
pneumonia  or  to  something  else;  but  the  real 
cause,  while  right  on  the  surface,  was  beyond 
the  doctor's  diagnosis. 

I  didn't  sicken;  and  I  didn't  die;  I  wasn't  even 
wounded.  What  happened  was  that  at  Bourg- 
la-Comtesse  a  shell  came  down  in  the  midst  of  a 
330 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

tashLln'  t''  '^Jl'^^^^^e  our  limb,  and 
washing  up  after  a  night  in  a  stifling  dugout 
and  some  time  during  the  foUowing  tw^ty-foii; 
hour,  I  j«:ove^  consciousness.  lyingS  Z 
beUy  m  the  darkness,  with  my  face  burkd  b  Z 
damp  grass  of  a  meadow.  Uke  a  dead  man 

roL^  u*\"  °'  '"''*«'•'  ™n«t«  trying  to  «. 
construct  the  happenings  that  had  puTm!  ILZ 

ceotfor'rr""  ■"^^t'^hat  I  wasL,hur^.  E^ 
cept  for  a  beast  munching  not  far  away,  no  Uy^ 
thing  seemed  to  be  near  me.  On  th^  kft  thf 
Sk  tTr"'  U   ^-^-'-Comtesse  were  bU^ 

iei  dim^S''K'''"1^rr  f™»*  of  -»«  the  «S« 
S  vTr  i''^'  '•'!"'  •'""King  over  No  Man" 
l-and,  Verey  hghts,  darting  upward,  and  radi^Jt 

tionl,?/.  Vr '•  '  «-mLSat  our  st^* 
tion  had  halted  at  an  abri  a  little  to  the  west^ 

lorcea  my  chilled  hmbs  to  cany  me  toward  th- 
spot  where  some  of  my  comrX  mi^T^f  ift 

But  whether  I  mistook  the  way.  or  whether 
they  had  gone  off  leaving  me  for  dead!  I  w^TZ 
able  to  explain  to  Wolf.     I  only  knowTharf 

the  only  creature  astir.    Dead  vifagesriad 
231 


■I  in 


H  i  & 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

chateaux,  dead  farms,  dead  gardens,  dead  forests, 
dead  lorries,  dead  tanks,  dead  horses,  dead  men, 
and  a  dead  self,  or  a  self  that  had  only  partially 
come  back  to  life,  were  the  features  of  diat  lonely 
tramp  through  the  darkness. 

With  no  other  aim  than  a  vague  hope  of  join- 
ing up  again  with  my  section  I  plodded  on  till 
dawn.  Though  my  watch  had  run  down,  and 
there  was  no  change  as  yet  in  the  light,  I  knew 
when  dawn  was  approaching  by  a  sleepy  twitter 
in  a  hedge.  Another  twitter  awoke  a  few  yards 
farther  on,  and  then  another  and  another.  Pres- 
ently the  whole  countryside  was  alive,  not  with 
song,  but  with  that  chimipy  hymn  to  Light  which 
always  precedes  the  sunrise,  and  ceases  before  the 
sun  has  risen.  Wandering  away  from  the  front, 
by  instinct,  not  on  purpose,  I  was  now  in  a  region 
relatively  untouched  by  calamity,  with  grapes 
hard  and  green  in  the  vineyards  and  poppies  in 
the  ripening  wheat-fields. 

Between  eight  and  nine  I  reached  a  village, 
where  I  breakfasted  at  a  wine-shop,  explaining 
myself  as  an  American  charged  with  a  mission 
that  was  taking  me  across  country.  Stray  sol- 
diers being  common,  I  had  no  harder  task  than 
to  profit  by  the  sympathy  accorded  to  my  Brit- 
ish-seeming uniform.  So  I  tramped  on  again, 
and  on,  always  with  a  stupefied  half-idea  of  find- 
ing my  secdon,  but  with  no  real  modve  in  my 
mind.  If  I  had  a  real  motive  it  was  in  a  dull, 
blind,  animal  instinct  to  get  away  from  the  bru- 
tality in  which  I  had  been  living  for  the  past  six 
«3* 


THE  THREAD  OF  FUME 

>ng  along  the  roads  I  imt  f^^     ^  aimless  dnft- 


Ipi 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

began  to  seem  to  me  a  necessary  task.  Only  by 
doing  this  could  Billy  Harrowby's  ghost  be  laid, 
and  the  phantasms  that  walked  with  it  dispelled. 
By  the  time  I  reached  Tours  the  hallucination 
had  assumed  the  form  of  a  consecrated  duty,  and 
to  it  I  applied  myself  as  to  some  holy  ceremonial 
rite. 

In  narratmg  this  to  Wolf  some  of  the  old  vivid- 
ness came  back  to  me.  I  saw  myself  again  in- 
specting all  the  environs  of  Tours— Plessis-les- 
Tours,  Marmoutiers,  Laroche-sur-Loire,  and  as 
far  away  as  the  junction  at  St.-Pierre— -for  suit- 
able spots  in  which  to  lay  Billy  Harrowby  down 
and  become  my  real  self.  In  the  end  I  selected 
a  small  stream,  the  Padrille  I  think  it  is  called, 
which  flows  into  the  Loire  a  mile  or  two  beyond 
Hessis.  There  is  a  spot  there  where  the  stream 
flows  through  a  wood,  and  there  is  a  spot  on  the 
stream's  bank  where  wood  is  denser  than  it  is 
elsewhere. 

Having  selected  this  as  the  scene  of  Billy  Har- 
rowby's exit,  the  rest  of  my  plans  became  easy. 
For  two  or  three  days  I  busied  myself  with  dis- 
creetly purchasing  a  new  outfit.  I  remember 
that  it  was  a  point  of  honor  with  me  not  to  be  too 
spendthrift  with  Billy  Harrowby's  cash,  seeing 
that  for  the  man  who  was  to  survive,  anything, 
however  modest,  would  be  enough.  Further  than 
separating  myself  from  the  unhappy  ambulance- 
driver  who  had  seen  such  dreadful  things  since 
arriving  in  France  I  had  no  ambitions. 

The  purchases  made,  it  was  a  simple  matter  to 
334 


I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Neither  soldier  nor  S^r  °"r  ?"  *''«  «»'"• 
people  rejoicing  in  th^  „  ""  V'  "[  '«"e«  to  a 

though  I  can  see  casi^^  .?  l  "^ "P*'  Soames, 
••one  it.  Whe^  rbtamrnt''''^  '  *'"•"''' ''»-« 
self  something  I  LS  X  «  ■"'^  '°  ""  ""y- 
fron,  the  past  thaf  ^   the  first  b.t  of  wreckage 

The  nan.e'^^rtt.e  iT^a t""''  ''''^  ''°'''  «^ 
associations  had  diwrDear^  ^'  "^'="  ^h^n  all  its 
that  had  swept  over  me  "^^  *''*'  ''»^« 

pie^e;ts^^"rrr«t^?--«st.. 

deaux,  and  mv  waiin^  ""T^^rd  toward  Bor- 
I  have  as  yet  o^^ly  such  frl^''"*'  *^  ^'«-«'- 
one  retains  of  dre'ims  fef*  "^'P^^O'V  as 
o«  is  shadowy.  rc'ertSn  '^"  '''"'*  «»"<»« 
^thout  contexi^'  NoTnefr,  "•*'?"*•  ^'  « 
tial  «.ough  for  me  to  be  sureTr  "  *"''"'"- 
to  a  fact,  ^  *"'*  °'  't  as  pertaining 

I  o^^'d'^e^:;  r reTab"  ^"^j""-  -"« 
water  shaving.  "*""  '"<'  saw  Drink- 

"Funny,  isn't  it?" 

Wolf  dad  not  make  th«  observation  till  some 


(  ill 


hi 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

minutes  after  I  had  ceased.    During  the  Interval 
of  silence,  as  during  the  half-hour  of  my  narrative, 
his  gnn  played  on  me  like  a  searchlight.     As  I 
have  already  said,  I  didn't  resent  this  because  of 
knowing  his  smile  to  be  a  kind  of  nervous  rictus  of 
the  hps  which  he  was  no  longer  able  to  control; 
and  yet  the  silly  comment  nettled  me. 
I' What's  funny  about  it?"  I  asked,  coldly. 
"Oh,  nothing!    Just— just  the  whole  thing." 
^  If  you  think  the  whole  thing's  funny—" 
"Oh  no,  not  m  that  sense,  not  comic." 
I'Whatisitthen?" 
"Nothing— nothing!  I  was  only  wondering— " 

•II  1  ^'^"'* ''"''  *•"*  ^^^^  Wolf  was  wondering 
till  later.  In  the  mean  while  I  gave  him  a  brief 
account  of  my  doings  in  New  York,  leading  up 
to  the  day  when  Alice  Mountney  had  "discov- 
ered me.  When  I  came  to  that  he  rose,  eying 
mc^all  over  as  he  had  done  at  first. 

"That's  a  queer  kind  of  rig— "  he  began,  with 
his  everlasting  joculanty. 

"It's  the  kind  of  rig  I've  been  wearing,"  I  re- 
T  u  II  '^'^"  "^^°^  enough  for  its  purpose. 
I  shall  get  something  else  as  soon  as  I've  had  time 
to  go  to  the  tailor." 

"I'd  go  soon,"  was  his  only  remark,  as  he  left 
me  to  repeat  to  Vio  what  he  could  remember  of 
my  tale. 


to 
the 
Was 


CHAPTER  VIII 

At  a  quarter  to  thr^  T       '  *^"  "remonialf 
the  Common  to  the  om/  """\^  *°  ^"''^  «^oss 
HiU.    It  occurti  »  ?*'""  ''°"'*  °n  Beacon 

for  the  dead  itl  a  «  "  i"  ""^  '^^"''  •=""«  •'^^'J 
till  I  set  out  on  this  e  "and  k'??"''?  «'"•  Not 
dead  I  had  b«n  I  haS  1i'  I  "««l"«ood  how 
I  had  been  mrmed  foAJT?  '"''  ''""^*'' 

finished  hergrie™nt;„/  °'^"*"'  ^io  had 
hfe-  For  anS^Vt  '"T""  *«  every-day 
templatingTnfa^^aL  ■  !?;•  "K^'^^'  ^^oZ 
"idthatwhen^^,?:;,,,^'"  ^'^'"'^y  h^d 
them  to  stay  de^-  a„d/L        "  V  •««"  f"' 

Beacon  Hill,  as  T  dr™       ^"  *''  '^^  "  ^as. 
illustration  of 'that  i!r  ""'  '^  f  "«=^  "•«  as  an 
which  aU  the  inner  stZT*'  °^  '\'  *»"  °''»"  °f 
myself.     It  was  no  lor^u'*'o™''  *°  1"  within 
boyhood.     iTwas^i*"  '^^  ?f''^°"  Hill  of  my 

year  when  I  IVntlC  '  T  ^".^°"  "'"  "^  *"^ 
ent  away.    To  those  who  had 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

stayed  on  the  spot  and  watched  the  transforma- 
tion taking  place  little  difference  might  be  appar- 
ent; but  to  me,  with  my  newly  awakened  facul- 
ties, it  was  like  coming  back  in  autumn  to  a  gar- 
den visited  in  spring.  The  historic  State  House 
had  deployed  a  pair  of  huge  white  wings,  to  make 
room  for  which  familiar  landmarks  round  about 
it  had  for  the  most  part  disappeared.  All  down 
the  slope  toward  the  level  land  the  Georgian  and 
Early  Victorian  mansions  were  turning  into  shops 
and  clubs.  The  old  Soames  house,  with  occa- 
sional panes  of  purple  glass  in  otherwise  normal 
windows,  was  flanked  on  one  side  by  a  bachelors' 
chambers  and  on  the  other  by  an  antique-shop. 
One  of  the  few  old  houses  in  Boston  still  in  the 
hands  of  people  connected  with  the  original 
owners,  it  had  been  purchased  by  Vio's  father 
from  the  heirs  of  his  mother's  family,  while  Vio's 
trustees  had  in  their  turn  bought  out  Wolfs 
share  in  it.  Four-square,  red,  with  a  fine  white 
Doric  portico  over  which  a  luxuriant  wistaria 
trained,  it  suggested,  as  I  approached  it  now,  old 
furniture,  old  books,  old  pictures,  old  wines,  old 
friendships,  and  all  the  easy,  well-ordered  life 
out  of  which  we  were  called  by  the  pistol-shot 
of  Sarajevo. 

My  nervousness  in  crossing  the  street  and  ring- 
ing the  door-bell  was  augmented  by  that  sense, 
from  which  I  was  never  free,  of  being  guilty  of  a 
stupidity  so  glaring  as  almost  to  amount  to  crime. 
No  ex-convict  returning  from  the  penitentiary 
could  have  had  a  more  hangdog  conviction  of 
238 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 


some  door-mat.  ]^f  I S, J*^''  «»  >'«  hand- 
moments  of  waiting  for  ^an™^  '"''"=''  '■"  ^''^ 
^«  in  noticing  th!t  the  j-  '°  ""^  ™8  « 

and  that  nothing  i^theaD^rri:  ""''1^  P»'« 
was  quite  so  spick  and  sn^S'^^,"''  '°  *''«  ''ouse 
th.s  a  solace  only  because^  «  formerly.  I  call 
nearer  me  by  makingS'lei  sSr  *1  ''"•?«  ^'^ 
than  she  used  to  be  of  evervf  M„  T  '"•^'^  ""««« 
I  noticed  the  same  S  "?''*«»  ^he  world. 

^P^nedbyacheeryrngfcr^"  '^^  ^°°'  ^" 

plainly.  -^      "'  *^ompelhng  me  to  speak 

TJ^aJJurdiSsTSf''  ^"*'""'^•" 

tizedinthe^Ssionslatr""  ""^*  ''"™- 
the  man's  face.  S«m/„  "  r"*^'''^*'^  °^« 
on  incredulity.  apoCSwld  o?"*  ^°"°''«'' 
A?  I  ^as  still  too  neafto  PeX  C  """'?«*• 


''  M 


I 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

shoulder.    "Just  tell  Mrs.  Harrowby  I'm  here. 
She'll  find  me  in  the  library." 

It  was  purely  to  convince  Boosey,  that  was  his 
name,  of  my  right  to  enter  that  I  tossed  my  hat 
on  the  hat-rack  peg  and  walked  to  the  coat-closet 
with  my  overcoat.  With  the  same  air  of  author- 
ity I  marched  into  the  long,  dim  library,  where  my 
legs  began  to  tremble  under  me  and  my  head  to 
swim. 

Perhaps  because  I  had  not  yet  had  time  to 
think  of  this  room  in  particular,  I  experienced 
my  first  sensation  of  difficulty  or  unreality  in  get- 
ting back  the  old  conceptions.  It  was  not  alone 
my  head  that  swam,  but  the  room.  If  you  imag- 
ine yourself  sailing  through  a  fog  and  drawing  an 
approaching  ship  out  of  the  bank  by  sheer  mental 
effort  of  your  own,  you  will  understand  what  I 
mean.  In  ordinary  conditions  you  have  only  to 
watch  the  ship  making  itself  more  and  more  dis- 
tinct; in  my  case  the  ship  did  nothing.  It  was 
as  if  I  had  to  build  it  plank  by  plank  and  sail  by 
sail  in  order  to  see  it  at  all. 

I  could  do  this,  even  if  I  did  it  painfully.  The 
room  came  into  being,  mistily,  tremblingly,  while 
my  head  ached  with  the  effort.  Taking  a  few 
steps  here,  there,  gazing  about  me  at  haphazard, 
the  remembered  objects  appeared  one  by  one — 
the  desks,  the  arm-chairs,  the  rows  of  books,  the 
portraits,  the  fireplace,  in  which  there  was  a  slum- 
bering fire.  Over  the  mantelpiece  hung  Zuloaga's 
portrait  of  Vio,  which  always  raised  discussion 
wherever  it  was  exhibited. 
240 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

I  had  reached  this  point  at  the  enH  «f  »i, 
when  a  low  stifled  crv  «m.  fl  «"^o»  the  room 
the  fire.  ^     "'  ^"'"^  ^^'^  ^omer  by 

"Oh,  Billy,  is  this  you?" 

that  Vio  was  mv  wifi-    R..»  r  l        •  »JO.  and 

«men,bered.St  L"  t I'gl""  "ir"v"« 

eJsrxrwL\'renr''"^''''*-- » 

it  was  nnr  XT        ■    *'*,"J«'"lous  emot  on,  onii' 

ini..o*  ptv^".— nr.^Ji's^ 

241 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

What  had  been  all  over,  finished  and  done  with 
she  had  to  begin  again. 

And  I  had  not  come  back  to  her  as  I  had  gone 
away.  I  had  come  back — entirely  to  the  out- 
ward eye  and  somewhat  in  my  heart — not  as  the 
smart  young  fellow  of  Lydia  Blair's  recollection, 
but  as  a  working-man.  The  metamorphosis  ren- 
dered me  in  some  ways  more  akin  to  Boosey  the 
butler  than  to  my  former  self.  I  had  acquired 
an  art  that  made  it  possible  for  me  to  go  into  the 
servants'  sitting-room  and  be  at  home  in  the 
company  I  should  find  there.  The  people  in  the 
front  of  the  house  had  to  some  extent  become  to 
me  as  the  Olympian  gods  at  Creed  &  Creed's, 
exalted  beings  with  whom  I  had  little  to  do  out- 
side the  necessities  of  work  and  pay.  This  change 
in  me  was  more  than  superficial;  and  whatever 
it  was  Vio  saw  it.  For  her  the  meeting  was 
harder  than  for  me;  and  for  me  it  was  like  a 
backward  revolution  of  the  years. 

But  after  she  had  clung  to  me  and  cried  a  little, 
the  tensity  was  broken.  As,  I  analyze,  now,  I  see 
the  impulse  that  urged  us  into  each  other's  arms 
as  one  of  memory.  For  her,  I  was  the  man  who 
had  been,  as  she  was  the  woman  who  had  been, 
for  me.  She,  however,  had  the  help  of  pity, 
while  I  was  humble  and  overawed. 

It  was  one  of  those  moments  when  so  many 
things  begin  again  that  it  is  hard  to  seize  on  any. 
The  simplest  being  the  easiest,  she  said,  after  hav- 
ing detached  herself  from  me  and  got  back  some 
measure  of  her  self-control : 
243 


this  you?"  "   "y   as   the   result:    "Oh,  Billy,  is 


■•v,i. 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

th3"  "^^^  ^"  ^"^ '  ***^*  ^"  brought 
"The  little  I  have  i«  at  the  hotel." 
Both  question  and  answer  came  out  absently 
while  we  looked  at  each  other  with  a  new  kind  of 
inspection.  The  first  had  been  of  the  self  within; 
now  ,t  was  of  the  outer  self.  I  should  have 
shrunk  from  the  way  in  which  her  eyes  traveled 
over  me  had  not  my  whole  mind  gone  into  the 
exammation  I  was  making. 

Yes;   she  had  changed,  though  I  cannot  say 
that  It  was  in  the  way  of  looking  older.     Rather 
she  had  grown  to  resemble  Zuloaga's  portrait  of 
her,  which  we  had  always  considered  too  theatri- 
cal.   Zuloaga  had  emphasized  all  her  most  start- 
Img  traits— her  slendemess,  sinuousity,  and  fan- 
tastic grac^her  immense  black  eyes,  of  which 
he  alone  of  all  the  men  who  had  painted  her  had 
caught  the  fire  that  had  been  compared  to  that 
?i     »r\%^^  opal— the  long,  narrow  face  that  was 
like  WolFs,  except  for  being  mysterious  and  baf- 
fling—the mouth,   haunted   by  memories  that 
might  have  survived  from  another  incarnation, 
since  there  had  been  nothing  in  her  present  life 
to  correspond  to  them.    You  could  speak  of  her 
as  bemg  beautiful  only  in  the  sense  of  being 
strange,  with  an  appeal  less  to  the  eye  than  to  the 
unagination.     More  akin  to  fire  than  to  flesh,  she 
was  closer  to  spirit  than  to  fire.     It  might  have 
been  a  perverse,  tortured  spirit,  but  it  was  far 
trom  the  merely  animal.     Discriminating  people 
called  It  her  salvation  to  have  married  a  humdrum 

m 


Mil 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

chap  Gke  me,  since,  with  a  man  of  more  tempera- 
ment, she  would  have  clashed  too  outrageously. 
High-handed  and  intense,  she  needed  some  one 
seemingly  to  yield  to  her  caprices,  correcting 
them  under  the  guise  of  giving  in. 

Like  others  of  tempestuous  nature,  when  she 
was  gentle  her  gentleness  was  heavenly.  She 
was  gentle  in  that  way  now. 

"Sit  down,  Billy,  and  let  me  look  at  you. 
Why  didn't  you  bring  your  things?" 

"I  didn't  know  that  you  wanted  me  to  do  that, 
or  that — that  we  were  to — to  begin  again." 

"Of  course  we  shall  begin  again.  What  made 
you  think  we  shouldn't?" 

"I  didn't  think  so.    I  simply  didn't  know." 

"Did  Alice  Mountney,  or  Wolf,  tell  you  any- 
thing?" 

There  was  a  curious  significance  in  the  tone, 
but  I  let  it  pass. 

"Only  that  you'd — ^you'd  given  me  up." 

"What  else  could  I  do?" 

We  were  sitting  half  turned  toward  each  other 
on  one  of  the  library  sofas,  and  I  seized  both  her 
hands. 

"But  now  that  I'm  back,  Vio,  are  you— are 
you — glad?" 

Though  she  allowed  her  hands  to  remain  in 
mine  there  was  a  flash  of  the  black-opal  fire. 

"It's  not  so  simple  as  being  glad,  Billy.  The 
word  isn't  relevant." 

"Relevant  to  what?" 

"I  mean  that  you  can't  sum  up  such  a  situation 

244 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"But  surely  that  comes  first." 

we've  «t*to*a;!krr"'^-    ^heonly  question 
we  ye  got  to  ask  for  the  minute  is  what  we're  to 

^1^^  ^  *^*'"«''*  ^"  ^»«  settled-that  you 
wanted  me  to  come  back."  ^ 

«Z-''  •?**'«^,•''/^e  w»y  that  getting  up  in  the 

^x:l^^ "« *""  ''-"•^ "» '-  th' 

"I  suppose  one  can  only  meet  the  duties  of  the 
day  by  go.ng  on  and  seeing  what  they  are  '' 

tion  .r  ^'-  ""**  'f"'i  '•'"  ""^  fi«t  considera- 
Se"rid^'"**'"'  .It  d°«n't  matter  whether 
we  re  glad  or  sony.  smce  we  mean  to  go  on,  or 
try  to  go  on— anyhow."  *        ' 

Releasing  her  hands  I  dropped  back  into  mv 

t'^l^sT"  °^  '^'  •°^''  -anniSTthe  J^fS  kl 
tures  more  at  my  ease,  for  the  reason  that  her 

the  arr.^^^*'^  '"'"'**  '"''  ^"  'y^  *"">«<»  'o 
"I  don't  want  you  to  go  on,  Vio,  if—" 
I  ye  thought  everything  over,"  she  declared 
.n  her  .mpenous  way,  "and  made  u  ,  m^mS 
that  ,t  was  the  only  thing  for  me  to  do."^ 

Ihen  you  had  thought  that— that  oerhans 
you— you  couldn't."  '^^  pernaps 

She  nodded  slowly,  without  looking  up. 
You  d  made  othei^plans." 

ing  of  ;o^>  "*"  '°  ""*='*'  "  ^'^•^  ^^  think- 
HS 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"Thinking  of  me — from  what  point  ot  view?" 

"  From  the  point  of  view  of — of  what  you've 
done."  She  glanced  at  me  now,  quickly,  fur- 
tively, as  if  trying  to  spare  me  the  pain  of  scru- 
tiny. "Oh,  Billy,  I'm  so  sorry  foi^for  ray  share 
in  it." 

"And  what  do  you  take  your  share  to  be?" 

"The  share  of  responsibility.  When  I  urged 
you  to  go — " 

"As  it  happened,  I  should  have  gone  anyhow. 
When  this  country  had  entered  the  war  I  should 
have  been  under  the  same  obligation  as  any  other 
man."  i 

"That  would  have  been  different.  When  our 
men  were  taken  there  was  discrimination.  Each 
was  selected  for  what  he  was  best  fitted  to  do. 
A  great  deal  of  pains  was  given  to  that,  and  I 
can't  tell  you  how  I  suffered  when  I  saw  that  if 
I'd  only  left  you  alone  you  could  have  contributed 
the  thmg  you  knew  most  about.  That's  why  I 
feel,  so  strongly  that,  now  you've  come  back — 
even  in  this  sort  of  disguise — " 

"I'm  not  in  disguise,  Vio.  The  way  you  see 
me — 

The  motion  of  her  long,  slender  hand  was  partly 
of  appeal  and  partly  of  dismissal. 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  about  that,  Billy.  If 
we're  to  begin  again  there  are  things  we  mustn't 
talk  about.  Since  you've  done  this  extraordi- 
nary thing,  and  I  may  be  said  to  have  driven  you 
into  it,  I  want  to  stand  by  you.  Isn't  that 
enough?" 

346 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

gesture.  "^ '    ^    ■»«>"»&  commanding 

up  the  pr.si;  I  .  -  ;   :„,  ,^      ^'"8  to  try  to  pwk 

you',.  „j,riifcj;«:™°j!L"?  "'»"""•  »>»• 

Jou  U  have  to  see  me  lookine  as  I  am  fc,, 
few  day,  ytt,  Vio.    My  kit  doesn'f  ^.,  '  u 

variety."  ''^  *"  *  ***'  ">«  much 

"Oh,  well— 1" 

"You'll  fioj  .L-  .      ^"  *"*  °'d  house. 

"From  that  point  of  view,  it  will  probably  be 
447 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

worse,"  I  remarked,  when  about  to  pass  from  the 
hbrary  into  the  hall.  "The  world  isn't  going 
back  to  what  it  was  before  the  war.  You  can't 
-iop  an  avalanche  once  it  has  begun  to  slide." 

She  watched  me  from  where  she  stood  before 
the  fire,  reproducing  almost  exactly  the  attitude 
of  the  fascinating  woman  overhead. 

"Does  that  mean  that  you've  come  back  a 
revolutionist,  Billy?  as  well  as  everything  else?" 

"N-no;  I  haven't  come  back  anything  in  par- 
ticular. I'm  just  like  you  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
world,  a  snowflake  14  the  avalanche.  I  suppose 
I  shall  go  tumbling  with  the  mass." 

A  sense  of  something  outlived  came  to  me  as 
I  roamed  through  the  house  which  Vio  allowed 
me  to  visit  by  myself.  After  two  years  spent  in 
a  squint-eyed  roMr.  of  which  the  only  decoration 
was  three  painted  tungi  this  mellow  beauty  stirred 
me  to  a  vague  irritation.  It  was  not  a  real  dwell- 
ing for  real  people  in  the  real  world  as  the  real 
world  had  become.  It  was  too  rich  and  soft  and 
long  established  in  its  place.  Three  or  four  gen- 
erations of  Soameses  and  Torrances  had  stored 
Its  rooms  with  tapestries,  Portraits,  old  porce- 
lams,  and  mahoganies;  and  for  America  that  is 
much. 

Over  the  landing  where  the  staijway  turned 
hung  the  famous  Copley  of  Jasper  Soames.  For 
a  good  two  minutes  he  and  I  faced  each  other  in 
unspeakable  communion.  There  was  nothing  be- 
tween us  but  this  stairway  acquaintance,  formed 
during  the  three  years  Vio  and  I  had  lived  to- 
248 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
Si' ^2?  ""''""  ''^  "^^  '•"'»  «-Ped 

toned  do^  by  use  ^A  r*^*""*'  .sufficiently 
shabby.  ?hat^"a7tretrth«rcVl:rer'' 

^^SyX'::;^7:S:oVrt-"-^'^^^ 

•night  be  said  to  have  fulfill^..  ^  he  old  house 
and  to  be  rearlv  »«       '"""'«<«  its  long  mission, 

which  it  wa?,tp,  '^       '"''^  "^  "^^  '«»  °f 

anJ;.?ptTe7n.reTn,v'"h'K*"'"  ^'^^ 
have  be«>n  o  !»  ^  *  ""^  habitation  would 

of  paper  to  indfcaTthat  I  fa?'"'*'  "."*  "  *"'? 
be  called  1^''°  "'^".hitherto  faced  what  might 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

to  whatever  was  best  in  the  small  reahn.  Amer- 
ican civilization,  like  that  of  the  Italy  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages,  being  civic  and  not  national,  the  boun- 
daries of  Boston,  with  its  suburbs  and  seaside 
resorts,  had  formed  the  limits  of  Vio's  horizon. 
True,  she  had  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in  Europe 
—but  always  as  a  Bostonian.  She  had  made 
periodical  visits  to  Newport,  Bar  Harbor,  Palm 
Beach,  and  White  Sulphur  Springs — but  always 
as  a  Bostonian.  Once  she  had  traveled  as  far  on 
the  American  continent  as  California — but  still 
as  a  Bostonian. 

Boston  sufficed  for  Vio,  seeing  that  it  was 
big  enough  to  give  her  variety,  and  swell  enough 
to  permit  her  to  shine  with  little  competition. 
Competition  irked  her,  for  the  reason  that  she 
despised  taking  trouble.  With  the  exception  of 
a  toilet  exact  to  the  last  detail  of  refinement, 
her  life  was  always  at  loose  ends.  She  rarely 
answered  letters;  she  rarely  returned  calk;  she 
rever  kept  accounts;  if  she  began  a  book  she 
didn't  finish  it.  Adoring  little  Bobby  during  the 
months  of  his  brief  life,  she  found  the  necessities 
of  motherhood  unbearable.  That  she  was  as  a 
rule  picturesquely  unhappy  was  due  to  the  fact 
of  having  nothing  on  which  to  whet  her  spiritual 
mettle.  Like  a  motor  working  while  the  motor- 
car stands  still,  she  churned  herself  into  action 
that  got  nowhere  as  a  result. 

But  mw  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was 
face  to  face  with  a  great,  big  personal  problem. 
How  big  and  great  the  problem  was  I  didn't  at 
250 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
the  time  understand.    All  r  i-n.,iJ 

rushing  open  the  door  betw«.n  !,«,  — 
mine  I  received  acain^L  ^       •      '°°'"  ^^ 
awesome  priXe  I  h  J      ""?"«'«•>  of  almost 

our  honeym^n      I  tn  ^    "V"'  '«"">  f""" 
inthisr,Srnt\as^?l""^"  l*^'"  «  my  ease 

It  was  a  SoamrJHT""''^' '"^^ '■«"«'«• 

m,  she  made  return  to  m^    K^^^''-^  "•  ^  «»"'«» 
more  than  I  to  rive  her  ZV  ''"  ^^K  «>  much 

P'£L^\Z  rarh^ mTde  .-^aS- 
The  only  abiding  note  of  my  personality  had 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

been  my  photograph  at  the  head  of  Vio's  bed. 
There  was  a  photograph  there  now,  but  I  saw  that 
the  frame  was  different.  Mine  had  been  in  a 
silver  frame;  this  was  in  red-brown  leather.  If 
it  was  still  mine  .  .  . 

But  it  was  not  mine.  It  was  that  of  a  colonel 
in  an  American  uniform,  wearing  British  and 
French  decorations.  Big,  portly,  handsome, 
bluff,  with  an  empty  left  sleeve,  he  revealed  him- 
self as  a  hero.  He  was  a  hero,  while  I  .  .  .  It 
occurred  to  me  that  death  was  not  the  only  means 
of  giving  Vio  her  freedom,  and  that  I  ought  to 
tell  her  so. 

To  do  that  I  was  making  my  way  down-stairs 
with  the  words  framing  themselves  on  my  lips. 

"Vio,"  I  meant  to  say,  "if  you  don't  want  me 
back,  if  anything  has  happened  to  make  it  best 
for  me  to  go  away  again  forever,  you've  only  to 
say  the  word  and  I'll  do  it." 

But  while  I  was  still  descending  she  swept  into 
the  hall.  Her  movements  were  always  rapid, 
with  a  careless,  commanding  ease.  She  was  once 
more  the  Zuloaga  woman  all  on  ire  within. 

"How  long  do  you  think  it  will  be,  Billy,  before 
your  tailor  can  make  you  look  as  you  ought  to?" 

I  paused  where  I  was,  some  three  steps  above 
her.  "It  may  hardly  be  worth  while  to  consider 
that,  Vio—" 

"Oh,  but  it  is,"  she  interrupted.  "If  we're 
going  to  put  this  thing  through  we  must  do  it  with 
some  dash.     That's  essential." 

"Why— why  the  dash?" 
252 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
"Because  there's  no  other  way  of  doine  it 

tinut  Ir^      ^*  ''''^'  *•""  sentiment  to  con- 
tinue  in  her  own  way.    "Alice   Mountneyr  is 

oTa?."^  '  "'«  *'™  '-'^  ---  'S'To^r' 
My  heart  sank. 
"Is  that  necessary?" 

Dref«encr%"'f  ""''"l"'^-     ^*  '*"'*  »  «»»«"  of 
for  m^r.  f ■       '  ^" 'V''"  «*^*  "  ^"  be  as  hard 

!l      r     lm"*"^  """■*  ^'^  '«ft  me  to  divine  her 
thought  wh.le  she  added,  firmly:  "It  has  simjfy 

" What?" T'ch  T  "T  ""H^'  P^P'^  ^f''"'^- 
What.?    I  challenged,  when  she  paused,  not 

apparently  from  lack  of  words  but  from  felr  of 

ttSjlt^l7hr?'^^''^°'^^^'-"-^<>-f 
Her  answer  was  made  with  the  storm  in  the 
eyes  that  was  always  my  warning  of  da^e 

h«r^n"'"'''  ""  ^T*^  '"  ^™-  I  <'i«l"'t  want  to 
hi  7  "}?'*•  ,^."*^«^'-  ^''=«»-  That  part  of  it 
IS  dosed.  I've  told  you  already  that  I  accfpt  he 
respons,b.hty,  and  I  do.  You  mayn't  think  it 
but  I  have  a  conscience  of  a  kind;  and  I  know 
that  .fit  hadn't  been  for  me  you  ;ouldn't  havl 

TW     ""I'",f'  t"**^^    But  there  we  are  aga'n! 
There  we  shall  always  be  if  we  allow  ourselvfs  To 

Sr  W-    Y°"«"'y»>-band.  Billy;  I'Zlnr 

ht\apTen:d-"'"  ^"^^  '™'"  ^''-'  -''-- 

»S3 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"We  could  get  away  from  it,  if  you  preferred,'* 
"What  I  prefer,"  she  declared,  with  her  old- 
time  hauteur,  "is  what  I'm  asking  you  to  do. 
If  I  didn't  prefer  it  I  shouldn't  ask  for  it.  Go 
back  to  the  hotel  and  get  your  things.  Go  to 
the  tailor  and  get  more.  Your  room  is  waiting 
for  you.  It  will  be  the  next  room  to  mine,  just 
as  before  with  only  the  door — " 

"The  closed  door,  Vio?" 

^  "Between  us,"  she  finished,  ignoring  my  ques- 
tion. "If  other  things  arrange  themselves  we 
can — ^we  can  reopen  it — in  time." 

So  we  left  it,  since  it  was  useless  to  go  on.  That 
she  should  consider  my  mental  lapse  so  terrible 
a  disgrace  was  a  surprise  to  me;  but  as  I  so  con- 
sidered it  myself  I  could  not  blame  another  for 
taking  the  same  point  of  view.  After  all,  a  man 
should  show  a  man's  nerve.  Thousands,  mill- 
ions of  men,  had  shown  it  to  the  limit  and  be- 
yond. I  hadn't;  that  was  all  that  could  be  said 
about  it.  How  could  Vio,  how  could  any  one 
else,  regard  me  as  other  than  abnormal? 

As  she  was  making  so  brave  an  attempt  to  put 
all  this  behind  her,  it  became  my  duty  to  help 
her.  This  I  could  do  most  easily  by  deflecting 
the  conversation  to  the  large  family  connection, 
as  to  which  I  was  without  news.  She  gave  me 
this  news  as  we  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  stairway, 
or  while  I  got  ready  to  go  out  again. 

It  was  a  relief  to  learn  that  none  of  my  brothers 
or  sisters  was  in  Boston.    George,  who  was  older 
than  myself,  was  on  General  Pershing's  staflp,  and 
aS4 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

and  was  ^mewhere  ?„  F  '""'■*=°'»'""'«Jer 

Cantley,roTad"l'Hfd'^J';iLTS    """"^ 

hadn't  shed  a  tear      F^  °"^  '^^'  "^  M»n» 

been  f-;o&aroL'rSpo£V"v>r  "'' 

najne  the  ^:Z:^^^\^^  -a 
the  spint  to  live  up  to  Vio  d;HnV  \-  "*** 
course;  but  it  was  ?he  infeiLe         "^  *'^'  °^ 

«n,  and  some  were  min-  l      .   ^"^^  *^'°  « 

•heir  .™.  .ndmrr   E.™  WoTfSf 'V"'i 


CHAPTER  IX 


GOING  back  to  the  hotel,  I  had  my  first  pang 
of  regret  for  having  waked  up  on  that  mid- 
night at  Bourg-la-Comtesse.  It  was  the  same 
reflection;  the  dead  were  so  much  wiser  in  stay- 
ing dead.  I  guessed  that  during  the  weeks  when 
I  was  missing  Vio  had  mourned  for  me  with  a 
grief  into  which  a  new  element  had  come  when  my 
clothes  were  found  on  the  bank  of  the  Padrille. 
That  was  a  mistake,  that  my  clothes  should  be 
found  there.  A  missing  man  should  be  traced 
to  a  prison  or  a  hospital,  or  remain  gloriously 
missing.  He  should  have  no  interval  of  safety 
in  which  to  go  in  bathing,  a  hundred  miles  from 
the  spot  on  which  he  had  last  been  seen  alive,  not 
even  to  be  drowned.  There  was  a  mystery  in 
that  which  might  easily  become  a  flaw  in  a  sol- 
dier's record,  and  which  to  a  woman  as  proud  as 
Vio  would  be  equivalent  to  dishonor.  That  there 
should  be  a  question  of  the  kind  with  regard  to 
her  own  husband  .  .  . 

So  I  began  to  do  justice  to  the  courage  she  dis- 
played.    Rising  to  the  occasion  in  a  way  I  could 
only    call    magnificent,    she    sank    herself,    her 
opinions,  and  her  plans — I  called  ti^em  plans  to 
i$6 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

And  y«  the  more  splendid  her  Mstuw  th* 

made  me  Lie  a  man,  once  strong  and  active,  r  J 
duced  to  hvu^  on  the  doles  of  the^compSatr 
I  could  never  be  independent  again;  I  STev^; 
agam  have  the  mental  freedom^f  one  ~  to  whom 
there  «  nothmg  unexplained.     By  a  pr^«sTf 
bluff  I  might  carry  the  thing  off;   but  t^t^at  I 
felt  an  unspeakable  aversion      It  was  n«  Ihll  f 
was  unw^Uing  to  second  Via;  it  wa'^^p^d^^ 
Havmg  been  guilty  of  the  indiscretion  of  wS 
at  Bourg-la-Comtesse.  I  began  to  re«et  thTl«^i 
du  1  peaceful  routine  of  cfeed  &  CrS^        '^ 
in  J^  ".«*/*"«"  that  these  things  were  sis  dear 
they  were  there  confused  v     Everv  J^^^JL  • 
JrS  \^^L»^-- -  ei5.7rToZS 

ouHntTrrc^lS  ^'"^  ^  "='"'-'"  «-<^'' 
Returning  from  the  hotel  with  my  suit-case 
and  bag-the  same  with  which  I  had  iMTded 
fijom  the^«.^,n^I  heard  a  man's  voice  S 
drawmg-room  up-stairs.  The  deep,  soft  Tones 
told  rne  it  was  not  Wolfs 

^'^^^"'^^y  "'''  ^*  y°"  «'='*  to  go  right  up 
s.r,     Boosey  mformed^me.  relieving  me  d^  my 


IHE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

bags.  "I  'ear  as  you  was  a  prisoner  In  Germany, 
sir,"  he  continued,  while  making  his  way  to  the 
coat-closet  with  my  coat.  "That's  ^y  I  didn't 
know  as  it  'd  be  you  when  you  come  this  afternoon. 
Nfight  I  ask,  sir,  if  they  throwed  beer  in  your  face, 
or  anything  like  that?" 

With  one  foot  on  the  stairs  I  kwked  after  the 
waddKng  figure  retreating  down  the  hall. 

"Who  told  you  that  I  was  a  prisoner?" 

"Mr.  WolFs  man,  sir;  but" —  I  am  sure  there 
was  a  veiled  taunt  in  what  followed — ^"  but  if  you 
wasn't,  sir,  or  if  it's  a  secret — " 

I  k>st  the  rest  as  he  became  engulfed  in  the 
closet,  but  I  had  heard  enough.  Wolf  had  taken 
his  own  way  to  protect  the  honor  of  the  family. 

It  was  not  easy  to  enter  the  drawing-room  and 
face  one  of  Vio's  friends;  but  it  was  the  sort  of 
thing  to  which  I  must  leam  to  steel  myself. 
Moreover,  it  might  be  one  of  my  own  friends 
come  to  welcome  me  back.  Vio  had  informed 
me  that  Wolf  had  taken  steps  to  keep  any  men- 
tion of  my  "discovery"  and  return  out  of  the 
papers;  but  we  were  too  well  known  in  Boston 
not  to  have  the  word  passed  privately.  To  any 
friend's  welcome  there  would  be  unspoken  re- 
serves; but  that  I  must  take  for  granted  and 
become  accustomed  to. 

But,  as  it  happened,  it  was  not  a  friend  of  mine ; 
it  was  the  colonel  of  the  photograph,  who  had 
apparently  dropped  in  for  a  cup  of  tea — and 
something  more.  What  that  something  more 
might  be  I  could  only  surmise  from  Vio's  way  of 
258 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
wying,  "Here*.  Mr.  Harrowby  now."  Thev 
had  Kenungly  ducuMed  me.  ith;,r^,rS 
been  nece-aiy  for  them  to  discus,  me.  S2n 
1?^^T  L^H«J*  t°w"d  me.  That  my  S 
dK,dd  do  th..  with  a  man  who  was  a  st^e^to 

";«  a  d^vK"'"'"'."  •*'•*'"'''  ^  »"«=''  that 

-17  vP      *^"  *"'*"  ™  *«>  <•">"•    I  drained  it 

Jiw  bi^rA  "}'  '^;!''  ^«  "**  which  no  one 
« R.n      f      "  '  *"  ^  w«ained  on  nerve: 
Billy;  I  want  you  to  know  Colonel  Stroud 
He  s  just  got  back  from  France,  and  ha. Xn 

Rhineland.  Our  men  are  already  reaching  Mav- 
ence  and  Coblenz.  and  he  has  heard?  ^.thw 
the  President  arrived  this  morning  at  Breit  T 
supp,^.twdl  be  in  the  evening  p'apis"'"-  ^ 
iK)  we  were  hunched  m  talk  that  couldn't  hurt 

«lt  d"n-°£rc:\s?s;rd^£ 

iti!!^Zl  t'?*"^  ^'T  ""^8ive  and  takeof  banal- 
mes  that  dealt  on  the  surface  with  the  current 
cTi^rJ  J'l  "™f'tice  was  that  Vio  and  h« 
colonel  had  been  mtimate  before  he  went  to 

fnTn'ni  ""*•  -T  '''"  ^'  ^«  ''«''  with  medals 
and  only  a  nght  arm.  the  friendship  had  taken 

Sat  hTJ"  ^'"^''/H.^h  friendships^re  liaSfe 

^Ihin'  ?"*  °^  '•«=  Strouds  of  the  famous 

Stroud  Valley  m  northern  New  York  put  hiS 

aj9 


WCROCOfY   RESdUIION   TtST   CHAm 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


1.0    If  IS  li^ 


\m  1 1.4 


12.2 


12.0 


1.8 


^  dgpyeg  irv^GE  In, 

=^^  1653   Eost   Main   Slr«ct 

^S:  7°'^*>«tef,   Ne*   York         1*609       USA 

r.^  ('16)  «82  -  0300  -  Phone 

^L.S  (^'6)   208-  59B9  -  Fax 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

the  class  with  which  people  like  ourselves  made 
social  alliances.  When  Vio,  in  the  early  days  of 
her  supposed  widowhood,  had  met  him  at  Palm 
Beach  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  their  being 
sympathetic  to  each  other.  How  far  that  sympa- 
thy had  gone  I  could  only  conjecture;  but  it  was 
easy  to  see  it  had  gone  pretty  far. 

As  to  what  did  not  come  so  directly  to  the  sur- 
face, vague  recollections  began  to  form  themselves 
in  my  mind.  I  seemed  to  remember  the  Stroud 
Valley  Strouds  as  a  family  with  a  record.  Of  the 
type  which  in  America  most  nearly  resembles  the 
English  or  Irish  country  gentleman,  they  made 
the  marrying  of  heiresses  and  the  spending  of  the 
money  thus  acquired  almost  a  profession.  Horsy, 
convivial,  and  good-looking,  they  carried  them- 
selves with  the  cheery  liveliness  that  acknowl- 
edges no  account  to  be  given  to  any  one;  and 
when  they  got  into  the  divorce  court,  as  they  did 
somewhat  often,  women  as  well  as  men,  they 
came  out  of  it  with  aplomb.  I  seemed  to  recall 
a  scandal  that  a  few  years  before  had  diverted 
all  the  clubs.  .  .  . 

But  I  couldn't  be  sure  that  this  was  the  man, 
or  of  anything  beyond  the  fact  that  the  central 
figure  of  that  romance  had  been  a  Stroud  Valley 
Stroud.  That  this  particular  instance  of  the 
race  had  had  a  history  was  stamped  all  over  him; 
but  it  was  the  kind  of  history  which  to  a  man  of 
the  world  imparts  fascination.  It  was  easy  to 
see  that  he  had  "done  things"  in  many  lines  of 
life.  A  little  the  beau  male  of  the  French  lady 
260 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

novelist,  and  a  little  the  Irish  sporting  squire,  he 
was  possibly  too  conscious  of  his  looks  and  his 
power  of  killing  ladies.  A  bronzed  floridness, 
due  partly  to  the  open  air  and  partly  to  good 
living,  was  thrown  into  striking  relief  by  the 
silver  hair  and  mustache  not  incompatible 
with  relative  youth.  He  couldn't  have  been 
much  over  forty. 

His  reception  to  me  was  as  perfect  as  if  regu- 
lated by  a  protocol  and  rehearsed  to  the  last 
Shade.  1  here  was  nothing  in  it  I  could  complain 
ot-and  yet  there  was  everything.  A  gentleman 
Ignoring  a  disgraceful  situation  of  which  every 
one  IS  conscious  would  have  carried  himself  with 
just  this  air  of  bland  and  courteous  contempt. 

l-erhaps  It  was  to  react  against  this  and  to  as- 
sert myself  a  little  that  I  ventured  once  to  cross 
swords  with  h.m.  We  had  exhausted  the  move- 
ments of  troops  on  the  Rhine,  the  possible  re- 
ception of  the  President  in  Paris,  and  he  had 
given  the  Peace  Conference  six  months  in  which 
to  prepare  the  treaty  for  signature. 

"Then  we  shall  see,"  he  laughed,  in  his  rich, 
velvety  bass. 

He  brought  out  the  statement  so  emphatically 
that  1  was  moved  to  ask: 

"What  shall  we  see?" 

"What  Mrs.  Harrowby  and  I  have  been  talking 
about,  the  end  of  all  this  rot  as  to  the  war  havine 
created  a  new  world." 

•    '7t**'^P""'"e  the  cart  before  the  horse,  isn't 

itf     I    asked,   maliciously.    "The  war  didn't 

261 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

create  the  new  world;    the  new  world  created 
the  war." 

Vio's  exquisite  eyebrows  went  up  a  shade. 

"Does  that  mean  anything?" 

"Only  that  the  volcano  creates  the  explosion; 
not  the  explosion  the  volcano.  Given  all  the 
repressions  and  suppressions  and  injustices,  the 
eruption  had  to  come." 

"The  eruption  had  to  come,"  the  colone'  de- 
clared, hotly," because  the  Germans  planner     .." 

"Oh,  that  was  only  a  detail." 

"You  might  call  the  whole  war  only  a 
detail—" 

"I  do." 

"I  don't  get  you,"  he  said,  stiffly,  leaning  for- 
ward to  place  an  empty  cup  on  the  table  in  front 
of  Vio. 

In  her  I  read  something  surprised  that  didn't, 
however,  disapprove  of  me.  Thus  encouraged, 
I  went  on.  If  I  hadn't  thought  these  things  out 
in  the  monotonous,  unoccupied  hours  at  Creed 
&  Creed's,  my  stunned  brain  would  not  have 
been  master  of  them  now. 

"  I  only  meant  that  the  war  was  but  one  of  the 
forces,  one  of  the  innumerable  forces,  which  the 
new  world  in  the  making — it  isn't  made  yet  by 
any  means — has  put  into  operation.  If  a  house 
collapses  it  shatters  all  the  windows;  but  you 
can't  say  that  the  shattering  of  the  windows  made 
the  house  collapse." 

I  could  see  hy  his  stare  he  was  literally  minded. 

"But  what — ^v'hat  house  is  collapsing?" 
262 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"The  house  all  round  us,  the  house  of  this 
particular  form  of  civilization.  It's  sliding  down. 
It  s  been  sliding  down  for  years.  You  might  say 
that  It  began  to  slide  down  as  soon  as  it  was  put 
up,  because  it  was  wrongly  constructed.  A  build- 
ing full  of  flaws  begins  to  settle  before  they  get 
the  roof  on,  and  though  it  may  stand  for  years 
^•■e  ultimate  crash  is  only  a  question  of  time. 
War  came  as  soon  as  our  building  began  to  spUt; 
the  building  didn't  begin  to  split  because  the  war 
came.     It  was  splitting  anyhow." 

"That  seems  to  me—"  he  sought  for  a  suffi- 
ciently  condemnatory  word— "that  seems  to  me 
sheer  socialism." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  it  is.  The  Socialists 
wouldn  t  say  so.  It  isn't  anything  in  particular. 
It  s  just — ^just  fact." 

"Only?"  Vio  smiled,  with  her  delicate,  pene- 
trating sarcasm. 

"Only,"  I  echoed.  "But  as  we  belong  to  a 
world  that  doesn't  like  fact  it  isn't  of  much  im- 
portance." 

Bewilderment  brought  a  pained  expression  to 
the  handsome,  rather  stupid,  countenance. 

"What  the— what  on  earth  do  you  mean  bv 
that?"  ' 

"Only  that  we've  a  genius  for  dodging  issues 
and  shutting  our  eyes  to  what's  straight  before 
us. 

''Do  you  mean  the  ruin  straight  before  us?" 
"Not  necessarily,  Vio.    The  collapse  of  this 
particular  form  of  civilization  wouldn't  mean  ruin, 
363 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

because  we'd  get  a  better  form.  I  suppose  it's 
coming  into  existence  now." 

•  "^j*'°"^  ^"°^  *'"'"*  ^^^^'"  *'^*  colonel  ob- 
jected. "As  far  as  I  see,  things  are  pretty  much 
the  same  as  they've  always  been,  and  they're 
gettmg  more  so." 

"I  suppose  none  of  us  sees  more  than  we  have 
our  eyes  open  to.  Things  of  the  greatest  im- 
portance to  us  happen,  and  we  don't  know  that 
they're  going  on." 

"I  hope  that  that  kind  of  song  and  dance  isn't 
going  on — the  breakdown  of  our  civilization.  It 
wasn't  for  that  we  gave  'em  hell  at  Chateau- 
Thierry." 

"Oh,  none  of  us  knows  what  anything  is  for, 
except  in  the  vaguest  way.    All  we  can  do  is  to 
plod  ahead  and  follow  the  thread  of  flame." 
"Follow  the  thread  of  what?" 
I  was  sufficiently  master  of  myself  to  indulge 
in  a  mild  laugh. 

"That's  just  an  expression  that's  been  in  my 
mind  during  the  time  when   I've  been— been 
floundering  about.    Name  I  invented  for— for 
a  principle." 
In  this,  however,  he  was  not  interested. 
"Yes,  but  your  collapsing  house — " 
"It    may   not   come   down    altogether.     I'm 
neither  a  pre  phet  nor  a  prophet's  son.    All  I  can 
see  is  what  1  suppose  everybody  sees,  that  our 
civilization  has  been  rotten.     It  couldn't  hold 
together.     It  hadn't  the  cohesive  strength.     Per- 
haps I  was  wrong  in  saying  that  it  was  falling 
264 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
.nst.nct  toward  perfecfion-"         '"  °"'  ^^""^ 

for  his  mental  dugout  which  hi  K  ''^/."^''ed 

ground  of  denial  "T-?.  u  ^""°^«d  'n  the 
"All  tommyro-seeidrh ''■'";:  f^'''"  ='"'• 
any  kind  of  danger!  ""  '^'^''''  ^'°'" 

But  the  main  point  to  me  was  that  T  l„j  • 
measure  not  onlv  heM  „,  l       ^  "^°  '"  = 

superior  ground     I  had7.r\,''"*  ^'^  °"  *° 

menttK^Tpr^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  -''^- 

AnJ  in  Peptminfthl   laTdr/rS^''- 
discoverv.    As   h>-  ^,^„  j  j  .  ^  ^  made  a 

remembTred  tiSg  trbtl'of'Tisl""?-"^'"^  ' 
fore.     It  was  the  tin!?    fu     1    "  ^^^^  °"«  be- 

ten.  Mor^ver  iS  seelt  fn'  •  ""'^ '°'«^- 
that  had  caused   rnT.  '•"  <^""<="mstances 

Where  and  when  Z  h  ""''  ".  '"  P='«''^"'«r- 
not  at  onceTeturn'to  m7  Clt"'^  V'"  ^^.l'' 
association  was  sinister      '  ^""^  '''"  ^^'^ 

wanfrsa"  •'"^'  ^'"^-    '^''-'^  --thing  I 
26s 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

She  was  still  behind  the  tea-table,  pensive 
rather  than  subdued,  resolute  rather  than  un- 
happy. 

"I  liked  your  talking  like  that,"  she  began  at 
once,  without  looking  up  at  me.  "It's — ^it's  the 
way  we  shall  have  to  play  the  game." 

A  box  of  cigarettes  stood  on  the  tea-table.  I 
took  one  and  struck  a  match,  the  usual  stage- 
trick  for  gaining  a  little  time. 

"What  game  do  you  mean?"  I  asked,  when  I 
had  carefully  blown  out  the  match  and  deposited 
it  in  an  ash-tray. 

"What  game  can  I  mean  but — but  that  of 
your  coming  back?" 

"Oh,  is  that  a  game?" 

"Only  in  the  sense  of  giving  us  something  to 
play.    We  can't  just — ^just  live  it." 

"Why  can't  we?" 

With  a  quick  movement  she  was  on  her  feet, 
flinging  out  her  hands. 

"For  all  the  reasons  that  I  should  think  you'd 
see."  She  came  and  stood  on  the  hearth-rug, 
confronting  me.  "Billy,  I  wonder  if  you  have 
the  faintest  idea  of  what  I'm  doing  for  your  sake  ?" 

"I've  more  than  the  faintest  idea,  Vio.  Some 
day,  when  we're  able  to  talk  more  easily  than  we 
are  as  yet,  I  shall  tell  you  how  grateful  I  am. 
Just  now  I'm — I'm  rather  daztd.  I  have  to  get 
my  bearings — " 

She,  too,  had  taken  a  ciga>'ette,  lighting  it 
nervously,  carelessly,  puffing  rapidly  at  the  thing 
and  moving  about  the  room. 
266 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

.    "And  there's  another  thing,"  she  becan   t,t 

Zr  "^T'  °^  ^''^  I  washing  to  sav     '^I 
don  t  mind  your  talking  as  you  did  iu«  „ 

one  as  it'<! ^e  ;»'o  <.L         1  ^  J"**  now,  so 

isnW'  "  "  '''™"8h  your  hat;  but  if  it 

«"4l^"'*  "y  that  it  is." 
Ihats  just  what  I  was  afra.M  ^f     t      l 

Ligarette,      but  in  such  olarpc  tT.«>«  j       •  i 
revolutionary  ideas,  just  as  thev  H     •       ^-"^  "P 
"I  don't  kn«w  *».      •  .       ^y  *^°  ■"  prisons" 

revoIuSnL^rdTas'virso^'"^""''^  ^«^'"« 
living  in  a  rXSnl^J'Cld."  »>  ''  "'  °"^  °^ 

^'wJSf^^.;--^^^,  against. 

-nu     T   j"'"  '"^' '"  particular?" 
Isn't  it'  p"el  ,;  Tar^lf  v'"^ ''''''=''"  ^'''"^^^ 
aniong  /our  o[/Ss  y^'u rha'eTL?  "T' 
what's  happened,  moreihow  sha^    Tpu''  it  " 
rnore  conservative,  more  like  evel^bodTetT 

Vio,  who's  that  man  that  just  went  out?" 
Jhe  threw  me  a  look  from  thi  othe^L:"/ the 

/  267 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"You  heard.  He's — ^where  can  you  catch  on  ? 
He's  Emmy  Fairborough's  brother." 

"Wasn't  there — wasn't  there  a  divorce?" 

"Emmy's?  Yes;  Lord  Fairborough  and  she 
art  divorced,  but  what  difference  does  that 
make?" 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  Lady  Fairborough.  I 
forgot  she  had  been  &  Stroud.  I  meant — I  meant 
him." 

"Oh,  he ?    Yes,  I  think  he  was." 

"Divorced?" 

"Yes,  divorced.     What  of  it?" 

"To  whom  had  he  been  married?" 

"How  should  I  know?  It  was  to — to  some 
low  creature,  an  actress  or  something,  the  sort 
of  thing  men  do  when  they're  young  and — and — " 

"And  wild?" 

"Wild,  if  you  like.    Why  are  you  asking?" 

But  I  was  not  sure  of  being  ready  to  tell  her, 
so  many  things  had  to  be  formulated  first.  To 
gain  more  time  I  lighted  another  cigarette,  and 
she  spoke  while  I  was  doing  it.  Holding  her  own 
cigarette  delicately,  as  if  examining  its  spark, 
she  said,  with  a  staccato  intonation  that  empha- 
sized each  word: 

"Billy,  you  remember  what  I  said  earlier  this 
afternoon?  I  can  go  back  to  our  past  and  try  to 
pick  it  up.  I  can't  go  back  to  anything  that 
comes  after  that  past  and — and  before  to-day. 
Do  you  understand?  It's  more  than  three  years 
since  they  told  me  your  section  was  blown  to 
pieces  at  Bourg-la-Comtesse.  Most  of  your  com- 
268 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
rades  were  found— and  buried      Yo„  « 
">g;  but  missing  with  very  littlA  '  ""f'" 

weeks  went  by  tL  M^7op^t.nTd  till  tV' 
was  none.    Then  cam*.  thJ^  owmoied  till  there 

that  time  you  ha"dr:i'a!i;;"^  *''"-^''"  ^" 
"H^,  ^/"PPo**  that  Wolf  told  you  .       " 

liste"  o°Vu:  .Sn::  r  "r''"  °'"  -  ^  -"-^^ 

about  now  I  want  to  °  k"  ^  T^""'  *°  ^P"t 
that,  deep.-  d Je^'^on ?  ZttS  I'it  "'^.  ="" 
you  consent  to  bury—"  ''°  "  ""'^^^ 

th«tXr '  ^'^'^'^  ''^-  -  yo^r  side.     Is 
"I  shall  ask  no  questions." 
Not  even  if  I'm  ready  to  answer  them?" 

I  sha^ll^^rtyoTnol^r'^t^"^"^-"^'^-^  •>- 
"So  fh ,!  k  *°  ^^'^  questions  of  me  " 

silencl"  "  ''*"""  "^  *''-«  -"  be  a  S>  of 

retttraKyinS  b'th^'ertT^  ^"='\'^"  '^''^^ 

"  Because    oM  k        T^       *^*  °"  ""y  shoulders. 

trying  to  help  llu"^!.^"  >:°"'-  ^f«=.  »nd  I'm 

cause^becat/!"      ^  "  '"^'"^  to  help  you  be- 

Her  nearness,  the  scent  of  her  nt-  „„    »k 
e^STmLr"^'-  ^"'^  «-  were  lik^^Cnot 

vir'^i:rpr:r:L*tU°atr '"rt''/-'^' 

She  nodded.  "'^'^-^''at  I  can  thmk  that?" 

269 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"That's  part  of  it,  of  course.  I  don't  forget 
it.  But  what  I  remember  more  is  what  I've  told 
you  already,  that,  whatever  you  did,  I  sent  you 
to  do  it.  Now,  if  there's  expiation  to  be  made,  I 
come  in  for  that  as  well  as  you." 

"So  that  we  make  it  together?" 

"So  that  we  make  it  together." 

Having  already  been  bold  I  grew  bolder.  Lift- 
ing my  hands  to  my  shoulders  I  laid  them  on 
hers. 

"And  will  you — ^will  you  let  me  kiss  you  on 
that,  Vio?" 

"Once,"  she  consented;  "but— but  don't— 
don't  touch  me." 


PART   III 


CHAPTER  I 

SO  we  began  what  Viocallp/ltk         •    • 
what  to  me  was  no  m„!.    u  ^''P'^'on.  and 
to  persuade  our  friend*  ?U      l''""  ^^^  ^^empt 
what  they  knew     TW?    ^^at  they  didn't  know 
lations,  could T;  bit  tr°'"^;"u«  *° '^•''''' "ku- 
instant  shot^ne  tL"  hf.  ^^^''y  "*^"  for  an 
fortable  co3n«  tu^  £f ''"  "^  ='"  ""~'»- 
somethJng  like  the  Strouj  Sb"  ''''  *°  ''^ 
from  the  courts  of  bankwptcl  or  j""  "^'^^ 
be  unaware  of  annhW^5!i  ^-       '''T*''"-    To 
helped  others  to  bfunairi    f"  **"'  *  ™'«J"« 
spirit,  a  high  head    a  TfJlf  f  'V"""    ^  high 
through    difficult   sit.L-  *     ""'  "^^d  one 
"rife  of  tonnes  '"""'  '*«"'''«*  of  the 

the^S'y^t'gjLrE  *''  """'".^  ^-  ^'>« 

hear  it.    Nothim^^^I  *   °"  '^*''  '^  we  didn't 

fatuity  bW  tK^„::^  P°/f' e  when  Wolfs 

the  clamor  showerSs'f  d^  '*!?  ''™'"  ^ 
wasn't  that  he  told  the  truth  t'!'^J°T-  I* 
hes  so  easy  of  detection  Ar  »V''"  •>*=  ^o'^ 
tellthetruihasfaras  hetn  •'  ^«"«nv  <«d 
didn't  know  it  she  supph-ed Te'Lc-'  ""^T  '^' 
venuon.  That  thos/ c„  „  deficiency  by  in- 
jg  mat  those  ro  near  us  should  be  in 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

conflict  naturally  called  for  comment,  especially 
when  Vio  refused  to  let  me  speak. 

For  the  first  few  weeks  I  was  too  busily  oc- 
cupied to  think  of  what  any  one  was  saying,  see- 
ing that  the  detaib  I  had  to  arrange  were  so  un- 
usuaL  Of  the  steps  taken  to  become  a  living 
citizen  again,  and  get  back  my  property  from  my 
heirs,  I  give  no  account  further  than  to  say  that 
they  absorbed  my  attention.  My  standing  in  the 
community  I  was  thus  unable  to  compute  till 
we  were  into  the  new  year. 

By  this  time  I  had  taken  part  m  a  number  of 
family  events  on  which  I  shall  touch  briefly.  At 
Christmas  we  had  gone  to  Washington  to  spend 
the  festival  with  Minna  and  Tom  Cantley. 
There  we  had  met  Ernestine,  in  one  of  the  inter- 
vals of  her  flag-raising,  and  on  the  way  back  to 
Boston  my  brother  Dan's  ship  had  unexpectedly 
arrived  in  New  York.  A  series  of  domestic 
gatherings  had  therefore  taken  place,  at  all  of 
which  Vio  had  worked  heroically.  As  she  had 
generally  hitherto  ignored  my  family's  existence 
this  graciousness  was  not  without  its  effect. 
Where  she  did  so  much  for  my  rehabilitation, 
those  close  to  me  in  blood  could  hardly  do  less 
than  follow  her  example. 

They  followed  it  almost  to  the  letter.  That 
is  to  say,  none  of  them  asked  me  any  questions, 
presumably  wishing  to  spare  both  themselves 
and  me  embarrassment.  Once  or  twice,  when  I 
attempted  to  speak  of  my  experiences,  the  readi- 
est plunged  in  with  some  topic  that  would  lead 
»74 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

was  the  delibeme  «  'r  ?  °^  "^^'^  «  =•" 
and  quivering  ?«r  do  V  If '^'f  "'»  "^ 
do  it  willingly  '•*'  •*»  •>«  I  couldn't 

in  life,  and  take  advantlrf^'^r^  =«  "^ 
father  had  left  me  a  -"I    ^     ^'  '   "  ^^"  """^ 
my  services  to  Tt^u^^Z"^^"'"''''  '"  8'^« 
her  to  the  heat?     T^?„    u^l'"^'  *''«:ked 
work,  she  said,  not  tha^n?  '''°  m'^J?  =*  "a"** 
When  I  pointed  out  that  1"  °'^  ^''^''  ^ancy. 
turers  in  New  eZLTa     ^  "^  °^*''«  manufac- 
with  textiles7catf  eo  i?'"'.^**'''  ''="'  *»  do 
that  she  didn't  Si:  U     Hel'^V-''!^'  "P^"' 
that  I  had  done  no  worse  S/n   1""^"."°^ '^" 
foretold  and  any  one  °irh.  K     *''^  ^'"^  "'^>'» 

Ernestine  to  doTr"^  ■  ^'"'*  ^^P'"**'. 
me  as  she  was  ofty  oVe*^"'  ^»^. »"  tolerant  of 
Flag  having  becSw^ly^"*  a  flag,  '^^e 
priestess,  she  couW  tafk  ofnoTh*^  '''*,'"  ''•«'- 
nation  had  apparentiv  Lf  .'"•«  *^'''^-  The 
the  cult  of  tErFlae  should  ilT '"  °"^'''  *hat 
established;  and  all  othe^  *''''  """^  ^^'^ 
«de  the  circle  of  her  confer'"'"  ^"''^'^  ««- 
I  had  been  dead  and  had?     T""^    ^^'^  ^"^w 


H 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

to  Minna's  canteen-work  or  Vio's  clothes,  I  prof- 
ited by  the  generous  nature  of  her  exclusions. 

For  Dan,  when  I  met  him,  I  hardly  existed, 
but  that  might  have  been  so  in  an"  case,  as  we 
had  never  been  really  intimate.  Recently  he 
had  been  working  with  English  naval  officers 
and  had  taken  on  their  manners  and  form  of 
speech. 

"Hello,  old  dear.  Top-hole  to  see  you  look- 
ing so  fit.  I  say,  where  can  I  find  a  barber? 
Got  a  mane  on  me  like  a  lion." 

That  was  our  greeting,  and  the  extent  to  which 
our  confidences  went.  He  sailed  for  Hampton 
Roads  without  a  word  as  to  my  adventures. 

This  he  did,  I  am  sure,  in  a  spirit  of  kindness. 
They  were  all  moved  by  the  spirit  of  kindness,  and 
the  axiom  of  the  less  said  the  better.  I  confess 
that  I  was  mystified  by  this  forbearance,  and  a 
little  hurt.  Though  I  had  been  a  fuol,  I  had  not 
been  a  traitor;  yet  every  one  treated  me  as  one. 
I  should  never  have  spoken  of  my  two  years  of 
aberration  of  my  own  accord;  yet  when  all 
avoided  the  subject,  as  if  it  opened  the  cup- 
board of  the  family  dishonor,  I  resented  the 
implication. 

It  was  Tom  Cantley  with  whom  I  was  most  at 
ease,  perhaps  because  he  was  not  a  blood  relation. 
A  big,  genial,  boresome  fellow,  he  found  me  use- 
ful as  a  listener.  His  rambling  accounts  of  the 
doings  and  shortcomings  of  the  War  Trade 
Board,  and  what  he  would  have  accomplished 
there  if  gVen  a  free  hand,  I  pretended  to  follow, 
276 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

because  it  left  me  free  to  pursue  my  own  thoughts. 
As  he  never  asked  for  comments  on  my  part 
b«ng  content  when  he  could  dribble  out  his  o^', 
the  plan  worked  well.  ' 

tJ!ft  ^"  "  ""f  '^"'^  '"''**  awakened  me  to  the 
true  meaning  of  my  situation.  That  was  on  the 
anJ  7"  ''^'  Washington,  in  the  station    aT^^ 

metyThe  at""^'  "'^"  ^°'"  ^""^^'^  ^'«<*^ 

cI-ZT'  "''^  'T'  '"''"  ='•"'"*  «'"''^?  Boston 
clubs  I  mean  I  suppose  you're  a  member  of  the 
Shawmut  and  the  Beacon  Hill  just  .s  before  you 
went  away.  No  action  has  ever  been  taken  in 
the  matter  as  far  as  I've  heard.  But  I  wouldn^ 
press  the  pomt,  .f  I  were  you.  not  for  a  while  yet! 
ivater  .  .  .  when  everything  blows  over  .  we 
can  .  .  .  we  can  see."  ' 

I  nodded  speechlessly.    It  was  the  most  sig- 
mficant  thin,  that  had  been  said  to  me  yet.  ^ 
Yes      I    assented,  weakly.     "When   every, 
tnmg  blows  over  we  can  see." 

What  I  saw  at  the  minute  was  that  if  I  at- 
tempted to  resume  my  membership  in  either  of 
my  clubs  the  e  would  be  opposition.  My  case 
was  as  grave  as  that;  though  why  it  should  be 
1  hadnt  an  adequate  idea.  Annoyed  hitherto, 
I  became  deeply  troubled  and  perplexed. 

Nevertheless,    when    we    arrived    in    Boston 

agam  it  was  to  experience  nothing  but  the  same 

widespread  kindness.    True,  it  wf  s  largety  f^m 

relatives  or  from  friends  of  Vio's  as  admired  h« 

i77 


IfB 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

pluck.  The  tragedy  of  her  life  being  plain,  tnose 
who  appreciated  it  were  eager  to  stand  by  her; 
and  to  stand  by  her  meant  courtesy  to  me.  I 
could  be  invited  to  a  dinner  to  which  I  went  under 
my  wife's  Ijanner;  but  I  couldn't  be  admitted 
to  a  dub  where  I  should  stand  on  my  merit  as  a 
man.    The  distinction  was  galling. 

Equally  so  I  found  my  position  with  regard 
to  Colonel  Stroud.  He  made  himself  our  social 
protector,  filling  in  what  might  be  considered 
unoccupied  ground  and  defending  anything  open 
to  attack.  He  did  this  even  in  our  house.  With- 
out usurping  my  place  as  host,  he  fulfilled  those 
rj*i^  a  companion  pei'orms  for  an  inva- 

hd  lady,  passing  the  cigars  and  cigarettes  after 
dmner,  and  seeing  that  our  guests  had  their 
favonte  liqueurs.  Though  our  friends  came  nom- 
inaUy  to  lunch  or  dine  with  Vio  and  me,  it  seemed 
in  effect  to  be  with  Vio  and  him.  Every  one 
knew,  apparently,  that  he  and  she  had  been  on 
the  eve  of  a  romantic  act,  which  my  coming  back 
had  frustrated.  Something  wa  <  due  them,  therfr. 
tore,  in  the  way  of  compensation;  and  consid- 
ermg  what  I  had  done  they  '  ad  the  public 
sympathy. 

That  my  mind  was  chiefly  on  this  situation, 
however,  I  cannot  truthfully  say.  I  thought  of 
It  more  than  incidentally,  and  yet  not  so  much  as 
to  make  it  a  sole  preoccupation.  More  engross- 
ing than  anything  personal  to  myself  was  the 
plight  of  the  world  and  the  future  immediately 
bef-  re  us.  With  the  gathering  of  the  Conference 
178 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

world,  of  which  one  of  the  phases  had  been  war 
was  entenng  on  still  another  phase  even  more 
momentous.    To  the  mere  onLker.  suppo^bg 

of  man  on  a  scale  of  spectacular  magnificence. 
The  January  of  the  armistice  will  be  remem- 

S/'.k"  '"""*''•  "'■  ''"'""•'=  occurrences  illus- 
tratuig  the  yearnings,  passions,  and  fatalities  of 
the  human  race  with  an  almost  theatrical  vivid- 
ness.  In  ,ts  very  first  days  the  old  era  sighed  it- 
self out  m  the  death  of  Theodore  Ro^Jeve  . 

dent  was  hailed  as  the  herald  of  an  epoch  altJl 
gether  new.  Almost  at  the  same  moment,  bloS 
was  flowing  m  the  streets  of  BerKn.  worW^ 

?on"of  L?  Tt"''^'^  of  the  month  to  the  assasfin^ 
tton  of  Liebknecht  and  Rosa  Luxembourg.  The 
Ainencans  .n  Paris,  having  secured  on  one  da^ 

antiofe  °  f ''"^  ^°.^  .^''"f  ^»8ue  of  Nations,  the 
antiphon  of  opposition  burst  forth  from  Wash- 
ington on  the  next. 

Events  like  these,  and  they  were  many,  were 
as  geysers  springing  from  a  caldron  in  which 
the  passions  and  ideals  of  mankind  were  seething 

rr  but"  ^;H  ^^l  ^7r^  """""y  ""g*'^  thf 
eye,  but  if  there  had  been  no  boiling  sea  they 

would  not  have  spouted  up.     More  than  the 

fKun'd^m?^'  '''  ""•""«  -•  -•^  ^•-  I "- 

*79 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

That  others  didn't  see  it,  or  saw  it  as  less  ebull- 
ient, made  no  diiFerence  to  me,  for  the  reason 
that  I  had  been  in  its  depths.     Vio  didn't  see  it; 
Wolf  didn't  see  it;  Stroud  didn't  see  it.    Of  my 
family,  only  Tom  Cantley  had  vague  apprehen- 
sions of  what  he  called  "labor  unrest";  but  this 
he  regarded  as  no  more  than  a  whirlpool  in  an 
ocean  relatively  smooth.     In  Boston  generally, 
as  probably  throughout  the  Union,  the  issue  was 
definite  and  concrete,  expressing  itself  in  the 
question  as  to  whether  America  would  back  a 
league  of  nations  or  would  not.    That  was  the 
burning  topic  of  debate;  but  to  me  it  seemed  like 
concentrating  on  the  relative  merits  of  a  raft  or 
ahfeboat  when  the  ship  is  drifting  on  the  rocks. 
That  our  whole  system  of  labor,  pleasure,  religion, 
finance,  and  government  was  in  process  of  trans- 
formation I  had  many  reason-  for  believing;  but 
I  couldn't  speak  of  that  without  being  scouted 
as  a  Bolshevist,  or  laughed  down  as  pessimistic. 
I  mention  these  circumstances  in  order  that 
you  may  see  that  nothing  personal  could  be 
wholly  absorbing.    His  exact  social  status  means 
little  to  a  man  on  the  deck  of  a  ship  that  any 
minute  may  go  down.     His  chief  concern  is  to 
save  himself  and  his  fellow-passengers,  with  nat- 
ural speculation  as  to  the  haven  they  will  find 
when  th  j  rescued  have  scrambled  to  the  shore. 

Thus,  during  that  month  of  January,  I  saw  my- 
self as  the  vicdm  of  circumstances  that  mattered 
less  than  they  might  have  done  had  we  not  been 
on  the  eve  of  well-nigh  universal  change.    The 
280 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Dut  even  that  was  not  pennanent.  The  thread 
of  flame.  I  was  convinced,  had  not  led  thus  far 
without  meaning  to  lead  me  farther  stiH^df 

«^er  tho"  JT"'"  '''•'*  "«•>'  •"  ""  faring  dis- 
rrtK^"?!?''*  °^  existence'^  might  be7«ile 

cart":tlSd  me""  ""  »"  "^P^^  »'  ^^^ 

What  did  trouble  me  was  VJn «  ~1,^- 
Stroud.    It  troubled  ni/thTLre^f^r'Sreason" 
that  in  proportion  as  the  vapors  cleared  from  ™^ 

lish  me  m  Boston  hadn't  been  successftd      A, 
far  as  she  could  positively  carry  me.  I  went    but 

I  wafai::;?!"'  T"1 ""'  "'y^''-    The  mi 
I  was  alone.  I  was  let  alone,  simply,  courteouslv 

but  unanimously  dropped.     It  was  thT^rt  of 

general  action  it  is  useless  to  reason  wiVh  or  Jght 

281  * 


11' 


I 

I  I 

I"  i 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

against;  and  Vio  saw  it.  There  came  a  day 
when  I  drew  the  conclusion  that  she  was  giving 
up  the  struggle,  and  that  the  offer  I  had  meant 
to  make  on  the  first  afternoon  of  my  return  would 
be  accepted  if  renewed.  I  was  not  sure;  she  was 
not  communicative,  and  the  signs  were  all  too 
obscure  to  give  me  more  than  a  vacillating  sense 
of  guidance.  My  general  impression  was  that  she 
didn't  know  the  way  she  was  taking,  while  Stroud 
was  sure  of  it.  As  an  adroit  player  of  a  game  of 
which  she  didn't  know  the  elementary  principles, 
he  was  leading  her  on  to  a  point  at  which  she 
would  have  to  acknowledge  herself  beaten. 

This,  in  the  main,  I  could  only  stand  by  and 
watch,  because  I  was  under  a  cloud.  It  was  a 
cbud  that  settled  on  me  heavier  and  blacker  as 
January  passed  and  February .  came  in.  The 
world-seething  had  its  counterpart  in  the  seeth- 
ing within  myself.  ITiere  were  days  when  my 
inner  anguish  was  not  less  frenzied  than  that  of 
Germany  or  Russia,  in  spite  of  my  outward  calm. 
I  was  still  following  Vio  from  house  to  house,  with 
Stroud  as  our  guide  or  showman;  but  the  con- 
viction was  growing  that  I  must  soon  have  done 
with  it.  Not  a  day  nor  an  hour  but  seared  my 
consciousness  with  the  fact  that  he  was  the  man 
whom  Vio  loved. 

"This  is  not  a  life,"  I  began  to  tell  myself, 
bitterly.  It  became  my  favorite  comment.  I  made 
It  when  I  got  up  in  the  morning,  and  when  I  went 
to  bed  at  night.  I  made  it  when  Vio  and  I  en- 
gaged in  polite  conversation,  and  when  she  in- 
282 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Pelly,  Bndget,  and  the  Finn  I  had  to!^h.Arl 
genume,  the  foundational;  in  lu^nrcai^f? 
had  done  work  of  which  the  usefuS  wa^  „„ 
wise  diminished  by  the  bet  »!,,♦  T       \         "** 

cou.dhavedoneitIu«a:;",?lTyroim^:H" 
the  fungi.  on  my  eighteen  dollars  a  week   tT,^ 

a„j:l  J"*^  appreciation  of  its  value 

"ThS;'i^hou^  ^ytf  rn?^^^^^^ 

dressed  Boosey,  with  another  nod  toward  me 

He  and  me  were  at  school  together     Were^'^ 

wer"  she  continued,  with  her  ench^tinrSe 

as  I  reached  the  lowest  step.  ^  ' 

versity!'"  ^  """'^  *"  «^P'  "*''*  «=''«''  °f  »d- 
,283 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
And  a  mighty  good  ichool,  too,  for  a  «port. 


Do  you  know  it?' 


of— r 


But    ^vdia,"  I  began,  "what  in  the 


_'Sh-hI    Don't  swear,"  was  all  she  said. 


name 


— -- -   — »      "«»   «ii  Biie  sain,  as 

taking  Booseys  parcel  she  opened  Vio's  door. 
Ooing  in  softly  she  closed  it  behind  her. 

Once  more  Boosey's  expression  dramatized  my 
situation.  That  the  master  of  the  house  in  which 
he  exerased  hw  functions— even  such  a  master 
as  I  -should  be  called  "kid"  by  a  girl  like  Lydia 
created  a  social  topsyturvydom  defying  all  his 
principles.  For  perceptible  seconds  he  stared 
m  an  astonishment  mingled  with  disdain,  after 
which  he  turned  on  his  heel  to  tell  the  news  in  the 
kitchen. 

But  I  was  too  puzzled  by  Lydia's  reappearance 
to  tear  myself  away.  What  had  she  to  do  with 
Viof  How  did  she  get  the  right  to  go  in  and 
out  of  Vio  s  room  with  this  matter-of-course 
authority? 

In  a  comer  of  the  hall,  beside  the  window  look- 
ing over  the  Common,  was  an  armchai.-  in  which 
Vio  often  sat  when  taking  her  breakfast  up-stairs 
and  glancing  over  her  correspondence.  I  sank 
into  It  now,  and  waited.  Sooner  or  later  Lydia 
must  come  out  again. 

This  she  did,  some  twenty  minutes  later,  dainty 
and  nonchalant. 

"Lydia,"  I  cried,  springing  to  my  feet,  "what 
in  the  name  of  Heaven  are  you  doing  here?" 
You  see." 

284 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
The  parcel  the  had  taken  from  Boomv  wa.  no- 
^one  revealing  some  three  or  £0^^.^^^ 

E}::^^t-rft^:^^ 

thatepX^oXi-ea^ 

my  S'"'  '""^  ^'"'  '''"'  «»^8  ^-to  .ee 

"  Sj  ""  *^  '''^  '*">«'  »  month  perhaps  " 
..Did  you  know  I  was  here?"    '^      '^  * 
Why,  sure. 

"J*  *',  ^*  '^'i"  brought  you?" 

S>*ie  glanced  up  sidewise  from  her  work.  w«l. 
one  of  those  glances  she  aL„e  could  fll^^  "^ 
^^^We«.youWgotanerve.    Suppo^  I  ^^j 

"WhTT^  '""j**."  "^^""^  to  find  me?" 
Who  do  you  think?" 

"Miss  Averillf" 

"No;  it  wasn't  Miss  Averill     As  far  »  t 

of  your  family."  '       *  "*  ™*  "'O'O'n 

"ly  that  true?" 

♦k't"'?'  "'^  *'''""*  "'*  t™e.     Did  you  want  t« 
thmk  she  was  pi„i„g  ^wav?"  ^      '''"*  '° 

'.^rt'  1'^°  '^'d  t«"  you?" 

ainc^Tve  h°"'*^ '  •T'A,''"y '»'"'  *°  t«"  me?    Ever 

KuVL'rJlTut^JS''''/,- f ^^^  -  ^'^^ 

on  every  pair."         *""^"-    ^  g«  a  commission 
*8S 


Jl 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"But  it  wasn't  for  the  commission  you  came  to 
see  Mrs.  Harrowby." 

"Well,  what  was  it  for  then?" 
"That's  what  I  want  you  to  tell  me."  . 
"How  much  did  you  tell  me  when  you  dis- 
appeared from  the  Barcelona  over  two  years 
ago?" 

"I  told  you  as  much  as  I  could  tell  any  one." 
"You  didn't  tell  me  your  name  was  Har- 
rowby." 
"I  didn't  know  it." 

She  swung  round  from  her  work  with  the  par- 
cel.   "You  didn'fr-what?" 
^  I  tapped  my  forehead.    "Shell-shock.    I'd— 
I'd  forgotten  who  I  was." 

A  flip  of  her  slender  hand  dismissed  this  ex- 
planation, as  she  resumed  her  task. 

"Ah,  go  on !"  And  yet  she  veered  back  again, 
with  a  dash  of  tears  in  her  blue  eyes.  "  Say,  kid, 
I  know  all  about  it.  You  needn't  try  to  put 
anything  over  on  me.  I  know  all  about  it,  and 
I'm  sorry  for  you.  That's  what  I  want  to  say. 
Do  you  remember  how  I  used  to  tell  you  I  was 
your  friend,  and  that  Harry  Drinkwater  was 
your  friend,  too?  Well,  we  are— even  now. 
There's  something  about  you  we  both— we  both 
kind  o'  took  to.  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  but 
it's  there.  It  was  there  when  I  thought  you 
might  be  a  swell  crook;  and  if  I  didn't  mind 
that  I  don't  mi"d— this.  The  only  thing  I'm 
thinking  is  that  you're  up  against  it  awful  thick; 
and  so  I  told  Dick  Stroud  that  whoever  shook 
386 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

you  the  sad  hand  of  farewefl  I'd  be  on  the  spot 
as  the  ministenng  angel." 

There  were  so  many  points  here  that  I  could 
only  seize  the  one  lying,  as  it  were,  on  top. 
bo  you— you  know  Dick  Stroud?" 
bhe  had  gone  on  with  her  work  again. 
Know  him?    Well,  I  should  sayl" 
Have  you  known  him  long?" 
Known  him  ever  since  .  .  .    Say,  I'll  tell 

lT.^fV-  '''"•  J'  ^"  "'^^^  ^«  »«  "«"«  back 
on  that  ship  together,  and  I  was  still  doing  the 
stenog  act  for  Boydie  Averill,  before  I  got  Harry 
back  on  the  job  again.  Well,  one  d^ytkat^y 
floated  in  towed  by  little  Lulu.    He  s'i.ret  h"r 

F^^"       '  *"       "**''*  *°  ^  ^^""^  '»*  ^*«  " 

"'«  **^'J'  ^"-  ^''*""  introduce  him  f  you?" 
self  »!rl  *i  ^T  H'  ^^f;  "•*  introduced  him- 
self with  a  look  I  didn't  need  a  second  one 
before  I'd  read  him  like  a  headline.  When  I 
started  to  go  home  that  evening  he  was  waiting 
at  the  comer  to  take  me  in  a  taxi." 
IDidyoulet  him?" 

,.t  ^'"*  '  'j-  ''''"•    ^.'  ^'"'  =•  "'^«'-    When  he 
asked  me  to  dinner  at  the  BUtz  I  let  him  do  that, 

n?;?  J°."  "iT  ""•     ^r'*  y°"  remember  that 
nut?  that  s  what  you  called  him  afterward  " 

t;„     "u""!  *"  1"*J  *''"  ^^*^^  "'»«  of  silver,  dis- 
tinguished and  sinister  at  once. 
"So  that  was  he  I" 
"That  was  Dick,  sure  thing!" 
You  call  him  Dick?" 
287 


>5! 

mi 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"What  else  ^yould  I  call  him  when  he  wants 
me  to?    But  that's  giving  him  away." 

"Giving  whom  away?" 

Vio  had  come  out  of  her  room  without  our 
having  heard  her.  In  a  tea-gown  of  black  and 
gold  she  stood  before  us  in  an  almost  terrifying 
dignity. 

That  is,  it  was  almost  terrifying  to  me,  though 
Lydia  was  equal  to  the  situation. 

Oh,  madam,  I  didn't  know  you  heard.  Mr. 
Harrowby  was  just  kidding  me  about  Colonel 
Stroud." 

"  Indeed !"  Moving  forward  with  the  ?iir  of  an 
astonished  queen,  Vio  seated  herself  in  the  arm- 
chair. "  But  why  should  Mr.  Harrowby  be— what 
was  the  word  ? — kidding  you  about  anything?" 

"Oh,  we're  old  friends.  Ain't  we?"  She 
turned  to  me  for  corroboration. 

"Very  good  old  friends,"  I  said,  with  some 
warmth. 

"Really!    And  you  never  told  me." 

"Madam  never  asked  me.  She  never  asked 
me  if  I  knew  Colonel  Stroud,  either.  How  could 
I  tell  that  she  wanted  to  know?" 

"Oh,  but  I  don't  want  to  know.  I'm  only 
interested — "she  looked  toward  me— "that  you 
and — and  this  young  lady  should  be  so— so 
intimate." 

"I  hope  madam  doesn't  mind." 
"Let  me  see,"  Vio  began  to  calculate.     "It's 
about  four  or  five  weeks  since  Mrs.  Mountney 
sent  you  to  me." 

a88 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

seJ''i?,'!.^"T^''*""  '"•'  *««  "»«  to  her.    You 
Ina  ri""'  '  ^*  =•  ~'"™-'-  -  every  pg 
;;And  so  it  was  a  good  opportunity  to-" 
lo  improve  myself.     Yes,  madam." 

...What?    I  don't  understand  y 'i  " 

»,u  ^°\^^'  madani,  it's  this  way.     I've  onlv 

adventuress."  '•    ^  ™  an 

Vii^rpltef"  """"^"^  ^*  ^'''<=''  I  -r  saw 
;;0h  you  are!"  was  all  she  could  find  to  say. 
Well,  not  exactly  yet;   but  I'm  going  to  be 

T  tkl    k   •  .i''?  P"  "e  °n  to  this  corset  «unt 
t«ll  you  th.;."  •"'  "°™  I"'  "^M 


lo  go  in  to 
18 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"That's  not  what  I  want  to  hear.  Tell  me  if — 
if  your  studies  have  taught  you  what  you  wanted 
to  know." 

Having  completed  her  package,  Lydia  stood 
in  the  attitude  of  a  neat  French  maid  in  a  play. 

"It's  the  model,  madam.  That's  where  the 
trouble  is.  An  adventuress  has  got  to  be  .  .  . 
well,  just  so.  Did  madam  ever  see  Agnes  Dunham 
as  the  Russian  Countess  in  'The  Scarlet  Sin'? 
Well,  she's  it,  only  she's  too  old.  She  must  be 
thirty-five  if  she's  a  day.  I  don't  know  how 
many  times  I  didn't  go  see  her;  but  I  couldn't 
be  that  old,  and  then  she  talked  with  a  French 
accent,  so  that  settled  it.  Colonel  Stroud  said 
that  if  I  was  ever  going  to  do  the  diing  there  was 
only  one  woman  in  the  world — •" 

"He  took  a  professional  interest  in  you,  then?" 

"Oh,  my,  yes;  professional  and  every  other 
way.  Still  does.  Awful  kind  he  can  be  when 
he  likes;  but  when  he  doesn't  Hke!    My!" 

I  was  sorry  for  Vio.  With  bloodless  Kps  and 
strained  eyes  she  sat  grasping  the  arms  of  her 
chair  in  the  effort  to  keep  her  self-mastery.  Had 
I  loved  her  less  I  could  have  been  glad  of  this 
minute,  because  it  was  giving  me  what  might  be 
called  my  revenge.  But  I  loved  her  too  much. 
It  was  clear  to  me,  too,  that  I  loved  her  more  than 
I  ever  did.  My  return  had  been  a  shock  to  her, 
and  she  had  made  a  strenuous  effort  to  be  game. 
She  was  game.  She  had  not  fallen  short  of  the 
most  sporting  standard,  except  in  matters  over 
which  she  had  no  control. 
2go 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"Stroud  »  always  like  that,"  I  endeavored  to 
smile,  giving  every  one  a  helping  hand.  He 
maynt  be  the  wisest  old  dog  inth.  world,  but 
no  one  can  say  that  he  isn't  kind  and  faithful  " 

As  It  happened  I  had  better  have  kept  quiet 

I^n  me.""'^*'  '"'"*^'  "^ ''"  ^8"  *"™"d 

"Has  this  girl  been  anything  to  you?" 

res,  madam;    a  mother." 
In  her  endeavor  to  control  herself  Vio  uttered 

''  "ni.?'*"^  ^^'I?  ^^  8irl  up  and  down. 

mot?«r  ^""'^  ^'""'S  to  be  ...  a 

not  half  so  beautiful.  Madam  knows  that  any 
woman  worth  her  salt  is  mother  to  any  man  dow^ 
on , his  luck.    I  don't  care  who  he  is,  or  who  she 

"Thank  you  for  the  information.    I  hope  Mr 
'^i^^^AT'^'T^  y""'  maternal  care." 

wh.n  ?i  u'^l'"**  ^^  ^'^'''  "»''»"'•  Just 
when  I  thought  he  was  going  to  buck  up  he-he 

-twl  Tdrati^''"*^''^'"""^  <•"«»• 

„  "il'l"  ^•='«,?''^«-  If  you  had  come  to  me  I 
could  have  told  you  that-that  clearing  out  was 
his  specialty.    You  might  say  he  had%  genius 

in  J:  y*""  „'"='«''*  compelled  to  call  it  by 
another  name."  ^ 

«v^^/  '"*  ""*'*  ^'>^»rd  her. 
..„;?'  ^°  you  mean  anything  by  that?" 
What  should  I  mean   but— but  the  fact? 
391 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

You're  a  mystery  to  me,  Billy,  just  as  you've 
evidently  been  to — to  this  young  lady.  At  the 
very  minute  when  we  hope,  as  Ae  so  pictu- 
resquely puts  it,  that  you're  going  to  buck  up, 
you— you  clear  out.  You  must  have  a  marvel- 
ous eye  for  your  opportunities  in  that  respect. 
That's  why  I  say  it  is  like  genius.  No  one  who 
didn't  have  a  genius  for  clearing  out,  still  to  call 
It  that,  could  so  neatly  have  seen  his  chance  at 
Bourg-la-Comtesse  I" 

"Viol" 

I  don't  know  what  I  was  about  to  do,  because 
with  my  own  shout  ringing  in  my  ears  I  became 
aware  that  Lydia  had  caught  me  by  the  arm 

"Oh,  kid,  please  don't!" 

"Yes;  let  him."  Vio's  face  was  strained  up- 
ward toward  me,  but  otherwise  she  hadn't  moved. 
"Men  who  run  away  from  other  men  are  always 
quick  to  strike  women." 

My  arm  fell.  I  bent  till  my  face  was  close  to 
hers. 

"When  did  I  ever  run  away?" 

Her  hand  was  thrown  out  in  the  imperious 
gesture  of  dismissal  I  had  seen  two  or  three  times 
already. 

"Please,  Billy!  We  won't  go  into  that. 
You  11— you'll  spare  me." 

"Vio,  you  believe  thatt" 

She  inclined  her  head  slowly. 

"That  I  was  a — a  coward — a  ifeserter?" 

She  inclined  her  head  again. 

"And  that  I—"  the  whole  plan  spread  itself 
292 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

out  before  im^-"that  I  pretended  to  coramJr 
suiade  ,n  order  to  cover  up  my  tracks?" 

^^uS'That^"'  •"'  '""^  "'•'"*'-'^- 

«f,il??' ' '""1"'  Eveor  one  knows  it.  I've 
stood  by  you  nght  up  to  now.    But  «o«^-"  she 

awav"*  "„"  ^t  "f '»''J?«y  fro-n  which  I  backed 
hrre'^Tn.r''  *u"  ^°"  ?  ''~"8ht  this  woman 
here,  into  my  house,  where  I've  been  fighting 
your  battles-  Oh,  Billy,  what  kind  of  f  mn 
are  you  to  have-^o  have  a  wife  like  me?" 

"stfefe^r  ■"""■"•  ^'»" 

All  nght,  Vio.    Since  it's— since  it's  that  wav 
and  with  all  the  other  things—"  ^' 

But  I  couldn't  go  any  farther.  There  was 
another  speechless  passage  of  time,  during  whTch 
we  could  only  stare  at  each  other,  regardless  of 
the  white  and  wde^yed  spectator  of  the  scene 
toii^Tif  ''^"P*'?'  I  talked  down  the  long  hall 
toward  the  door  of  my  own  room.  As  I  did  so 
V^o  said  nothmg,  but  Lydia  uttered  a  little  broken 

"Oh,  kid,  /  don't  believe  it;  Harry  Drinkwater 
doesn't  believe  it  either.    Nobody  w^UbSe 
It  when  they've  had  a  word  with  me  " 
1    ^"*  ^''"'"'t  thank  her.    I  didn't  so  much  as 
ook  back.   It  was  only  by  degrees  that  iTearned 

Kti^ttort^eXr''^^-^'' -•'-''- 

293 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

I  was  packing  in  my  room  when  Boosey 
brought  me  a  letter.  As  letters  had  for  so  long 
been  to  me  a  thing  of  the  past  I  took  it  with  some 
cunosity,  recognizing  at  once  the  hand  of  my 
inend  Felly. 

Dea»  Soames,— I  suppose  I  ought  to  <aU  you  Mr.  Har- 
rowby  now,  but  it  don't  somehow  come  natural.    Soames 
you  were  to  me  and  Soames  you  will  be  till  I  get  used  to 
the  other  thmg,  which  I  don't  think  I  thaU.     I  write  you 
these  few  Imes  to  let  you  know  that  I  am  well  and  gmrg 
just  the  same  as  ever,  though  I  miss  o«r  old  times  together 
somethmg  Herce.    Would  like  to  know  how  you  are,  if  you 
ever  get  ome  to  write.    Expect  you  are  having  a  swell  time 
with  all  the  gay  guys  in  Boston.    Friends  say  that  Boston 
IS  sOTie  sporty  town  when  you  get  with  the  inside  gang, 
which  I  don  t  suppose  you  have  any  trouble  in  getring. 
Miss  South  has  no  one  yet  for  your  old  room,  which  u  all 
repapered  and  fine  with  a  brand-new  set  of  toadstools,  real 
shcwy  ones.    Mrs.  Leeming  is  sure  some  artist,  and  a  nice 
old  giri  besides,  when  she  doesn't  cry.     Had  a  very  nice 
tone  at  Jim  s  the  other  night;  just  a  quart  between  him  and 
iJndget  and  me;  nothing  tough-house,  but  all  as  a  gentk- 
man  should.     Bridget  could  come,  as  his  wife  was  away 
burymg  an  uncle  at  Bing  Hampton.    Hope  you  found  your 
wife  gomg  strong  as  this  leaves  mine  at  present.    Had  a 
very  nice  letter  from  her  the  other  day,  and  answered  it  on 
the  spot  telling  her  to  be  true  to  me  and  may  God  bring  her 
and  me  together  again  after  this  long  parting.    Now  no 
more  from 


your  friend, 

S.  Pellt. 


Write 


It  is  impossible  to  tell  you  of  the  glow  that 

jvarmedand  lighted  me  on  reading  these  friendly 

lines.    They  were  all  the  more  grateful  owing  to 

the  fact  that  if  Pally  believed  of  me  what  Vio  and 

294 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
every  one  else  beUeved,  as  quite  possibly  he  did 
.t  would  have  made  no  diffe«nce!^Of  the  thinj 

was  rare.    The  bruised  spirit  could  be  at  peace 

itV.^L^'^'  ''uT^-r^  •"  *'«^  spaciousness  of 
•ts  tolerance  the  humihated  soul  could  walk  with 

^r  t'u  ]"*  ^^y  "'"^  "«  Pharisaical. 

any  loni^'^Ti*'"^'  «  «  «V  plans  I  had  none 
any  longer.    The  instinct  that  urged  me  back 

Se'haToTtT^''  ^'^K^'irr  of  *-d«-'s  wS 
like  that  of  the  poor  bull  baited  in  the  ring  to 

S  L'^o^  t^'^  ')'  ''r.'*'  'y^P'^thetic  herd 
of  11.S  own  kind.     I  asked  only  to  be  hidden 

ofeU.''^^'""^*'''^'--f"— T.t 
Not  that  I  hadn't  had  a  first  impulse  to  try  and 

that  was  soon  apparent.  I  had  nothing  to  offer 
but  my  word,  and  my  word  had  been  rejected 
In  the  course  of  the  two  or  three  hours  since  the 
scene  with  Vio  and  Lydia.  while  I  had  gone  to 
the  station  to  secure  a  berth  on  a  night  tSn  for 
New  York  and  dined  at  a  hotel,  I  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  effort  to  explain  wou U 
be  folly.  The  mere  fact  that  my  doings  between 
Bourg-la-Comte««  and  the  AuvergJ^r^  still 
295 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

blurred  in  my  memory  would  make  any  tale  I 
told  mcoherent  and  open  to  suspicion.  In  addi- 
tion to  that  Vio  knew.  Wolf  knew,  and  others 
knew  that  I  had  not  offered  my  services  to  the 
Ambulance  Corps  of  my  own  free  will,  while  my 
lettere  had  pamted  my  horror  of  the  sights  I  wit- 
nessed with  no  thought  of  reserve.  My  supposed 
suicide  being  ascribed  to  remorse,  the  discovery 

York—    *  *"**  '''"  "^  "  '"'^'"^  '"  ^'^ 

No;  the  evidence  against  me  was  too  strong 
llie  one  witness  who  might  say  something  in  my 
favor,  Doctor  Scattlethwaite.  had  himself  not 
beheved  me.  He  could  say  that  the  claim  I  was 
putting  forth  now  I  had  put  forth  two  years  pre- 
viously; but  there  would  be  nothing  convincing 

Besides,  and  there  was  much  in  the  fact,  I 
wanted  to  get  away,  to  get  back  among  those  who 
trusted  me,  and  to  whom  I  felt  I  belonged.    If 
the  thread  of  flame  had  led  me  to  my  old  life  it 
was  only  to  show  me  once  for  all  that  there  was 
no  place  for  me  in  it.     Knowing  that,  I  could  take 
hold  of  the  new  life  more  whole-heartedly  and 
probably  do  better  work  there.    Already  new 
plans  were  spnnging  to  my  mind,  plans  which  I 
could  the  more  easily  put  into  operation  because 
of  having  some  money  at  my  disposal.     Mildred 
Avenll  would  help  me  in  that  and  perhaps  I  could 
help  her.    If  Vio  secured  a  divorce,  and  I  should 

put  no  obstruction  in  the  way  of  that 

But  Vio  herself  came  into  my  room  with  the 
296 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

What  are  you  doing,  BiUy?" 
^he  seated  herself  quietly 

"I'm  packing." 

"What  for?" 

;;Because  I'n,  going  away." 

"To-night;  in  an  hour  or  so." 

Where  to?" 
"New  York  first." 
"And  then?" 

What  are  you  doing  it  for?" 
su£^*^^«'"^'''''f«»''««JIlaiditi„my 

"I  should  think  you'd  see  " 
-fte^S'  "  •"^'•"•^  <>f--f  what  was  said  this 

"Partly." 

"Not  altogether?" 
t>..ii.'.  . 

another  coat 


it  on  the  bed. 


"No 


I  the  closet  I  spread 


not  altogether.' 


"What  else  is  there?' 


297 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"Oh.  nothing  that  you'd  be  imeiwed  in.    I 
— 1  ju«  want  to  get  away." 
"From  me?" 

the  SlSei^'  ^^  '^  *''«-^*  y««'«  P«  of 

"The  whole  what?" 
^  me  whole  life.    It'.  „«  a  life  for  me  any 

She  did  not  deny  this  or  protest  against  it 
For  a  minute  or  more  she  said  nothing,  though  a^ 
I  crossed  the  room  from  the  bed  to  th^  closM  for 
more  clothes  I  saw  in  the  glass  that  she  fuTvdy 
dashed  away  a  tear.  Yesterday  I  would  have 
been  touched  by  that;  but  now  that  I  biew  whit 
she  beheved  of  me,  what  she  had  been  bSng 
of  me  dunng  all  the  weeks  since  I  had  come  home 
my  heart  was  benumbed.     Besides,  if  she  was 

^^I  had  begun  on  collars  and  neckties  when  she 

th;;s;S' ' '  ^''  "="  ^'-^  ^  -« »>- 

„  "^°"  """  !»ave  seen  something  of  F    •  for 

yourself.     I  understood  from  her  thft  she'd  been 

commg  to  see  you."  "**" 

"She's  been  here  three  times.    Alice  Mount 

toLr  ?h;;"'  '}'''T  ^"'"  Averill  sent  h" 
Zr     ■  J   u^**""  "*"  ^''^  ^he  had  anything  in 

"Didn't  she  tell  you.?" 
298 


to 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAxVA- 

you.  I  don't  know  what  it  can  b.  '         ^ 
She  s  not-«he;s  not  crazy,  is  shef" 


'■8 


I  shouldn;t  think  so.     Why  do  you  ask?" 
Then  she's  extremely  pecdiar.'' 
^^  Were  all  that  m  our  diiFerent  ways,  aren't 

ouliy  'r  not"^""  "°"  -''"h-  to  taie  her  seri- 
"What  about?" 
"About — about — Dick." 


I  went  on  with  my  padking  without  answering, 
thmk?    she  asked,  at  last.     "I 


"What  do  you  .„„.i,r    sne  aj 
suppose  you  have  an  opinion." 
vJn  what  point?" 

"The  point  she  brought  up  .        as  to  h-r 
knowing  him  .  .  .  so  well."    ^  '  "  '^  ^  i^" 

Knows    him  ...  very  well  indeed.     At   least 
I  take  It  for  granted."  ^*"' 

«"^"  "^''e*  you  do  that?" 

"Evidently." 

sei?*"  ^''«  "bout  your  knowing  her  your- 

"That  was  different." 
'Different?    How?" 

»99 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Since  she  was  pressing  the  question  I  decided 
not  to  spare  her. 

"I  didn't  wait  for  her  at  a  street  comer  as  a 
form  of  introduction." 

Expecting  the  question,  "And  did  he?"  I  was 
surprised  that  she  should  make  it.  "And  would 
it  be  discreet  to  inquire  what  your  form  of  intro- 
duction was?" 

"I  was  presented  to  her  in  all  propriety  by  a 
blind  boy  named  Drinkwater,  you  heard  her 
mention  him,  who  was  my  cabin-mate  on  the 
Auvergne.  He  and  Miss  Blair  and  I,  with  some 
other  people,  happened  to  sit  at  the  same  table." 

"And  have  you  no  interest  in  her  besides  that  ?" 

"Yes:  she's  been  a  very  good  friend  to  me.  I 
haven't  seen  her  for  two  years  and  more;  but 
that  was  my  fault." 

"So  I  understand." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?* 

"That  if  you  had  no  interest  in  her  she  had  an 
interest  in  you,  strong  enough  to — to  impel  her 
to  make  my  acquaintance." 

"With  some  good  end  in  view,  presumably." 

"With  the  end  in  view  of  giving  me  the  infor- 
mation that — that  she  knew  Dick.' 

"And  do  you  call  that  taking  an  interest 
in  me?" 

"What  do  you  think  yourself?" 

Once  more  I  dechned  to  give  my  impressions. 

Where  Stroud  was  concerned  I  had  nothing  to 

say.     Now  that  Vio  knew  something  of  the  truth 

concerning  him  I  wished  not  to  influence  her  in 

300 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
any  way.    The  matter  seemed  oddly  far  awav 
from  me.    The  tie  between  Vio  and  myself  beTng 
broken  m  fact,  as  it  soon  would  be  in  law.  I  S 
Wd  to  leave  the  subject  of  my  successo;  X« 

"Why  do  you  say,"  she  began  after  a  brief 
pause,    that  this  is  not  a  life  for  you  any  more?" 
Because  it  isn  t. 
"But  why  isn't  it?" 

"nM.°"  c["'°"'  ''*'""'"'  ^  '•"n't  Mte  it." 
;»  ^-    I       J  ,*  ^^*  "°*^  expecting  this  reply  and 
.t  displeased  her.     "What's  the  matter  Jith  it "" 

v„..         u"'  *T"y*'*'n8-     But  it's  nothing  that 
you  would  understand." 

to  me!'"''''°''  ^  *"'"'''  understand  if  you  explained 

Th'S  ^°"  -"H""'?-   P''  "^f'"'  I  couldn't. 
1  he  language  isn't  corned  that  would  give  me  the 
words  to  tell  you.     It's  not  the  facts  f{  th^life  f 
dislike;  It's  the  spirit  of  it." 
''Is  there  anything  wrong  with  the  spirit  of  it?" 

myself.     For  me  it's  not  a  real  life  any  more      I 
Wong  to-to  simpler  people  with  less  complex 

."^ss  <=oniplex  ideas  about  what?" 
About  honor  for  one  thing."    In  my  goinM 

ner.       Among  my  fnends.  my  real  friends,  you 
can  be  a  coward  or  a  deserter,  just  as  you  could 

judgment  upon  you."  ^ 

301 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"And  is  that  ...  a  virtue?" 
"I  don't  know  anything  about  its  being  a  vir- 
tue; but  it  is  a  consolation." 
As  I  stood  looking  down  on  her  she  said,  softlv: 
"Have  I  passed  judgment  upon  you?" 

"You've  been  a  brick,  Vio:  you've  been  a  hero- 
ine. The  only  difference  I  should  note  between 
you  and  the  people  to  whom  I'm  going  back  is 
that  you've  suppressed  your  condemnation,  and 
they  didn't  feel  it." 

"Did  they  .  .  .  know?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you  what  they  knew,  for  the  reason 
that  It  wouldn't  have  mattered.  They  knew 
there  was  something  wrong  with  me,  that  I  was 
hiding  something,  that  I  was  probably  an  outcast 
of  good  family;  but  they  gave  me  a  great,  big 
affection  to  live  in,  and  thought  no  more  about 
it.     You've  given  me — " 

There  was  an  extraordinarily  brilliant  flash  of 
her  dark  eyes  as  she  lifted  them  to  mine. 

"What?"  she  interjected.  "Have  you  any 
idea  of  what  I've  piven  you?" 

"You've  given  me,"  I  repeated,  "the  great,  big 
affection  to  live  in,  but  with  something  in  it  that 
poisoned  the  air.  I'm  grateful  to  you,  Vio,  more 
grateful  than  I  can  begin  to  tell  you,  especially 
as  I  know  now  what  you've  been  thinking  ail  the 
time;  but  you  can  easily  understand  that  I  prefer 
not  to  live  in  an  atmosphere  laden  with — " 

"If  we  purified  that,  the  atmosphere?  What 
then?" 

"It  still  wouldn't  be  everything.    When  I  say 
30Z 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

me  out,  ,t  s  because  for  me— mind  vou  I'm  nn* 

-and"Ll  r  "";  ^'V*'^  becomrv'aJiTr 

time  ■'       ^^'  '"''-'"''  ^  ^"^«g  -way  of 

"And  what  do  you  find  among  the  peoole  von 

■""ThS  'Tl^-^t  ^'"''' ""-  -""whii^  r 

ihat  s  what  it's  hard  to  tell  vou      T  fi„J  »i. 

mental  that  the  new  cnsis  in  existence  is  tell.n„ 
us  to  d  3,,  ^^^.^^     You"  ^mSf 

What  1  sa  d  a  month  or  more  ago  to  Stroud  thlt 
our  buildmg  was  collapsing?"  '  ^" 

♦,iu-      '  L^"''  ?  ''"P*'*  y°"  were,  as  people  sav 
talkmg  through  your  hat  "  ^' 

doZlhLrr'f     "^he.  building   is   coming 
oown,  right  to  the  foundations.    Only  the  foun 
dations  will  remain."  ^  """ 

theyT"'^'"  "^""y  ^""^'^  foundations,   aren't 

"Exactly.     That's  just  where  the  trouble  is 

so  we  ve  turned  away  and  refused  to  look  at  them 
I  m  gomg  back,  Vio,  to  see  what  I  can  do  ?o  make 

bu  Id  ir  &''"  ""'^''^="''  ^"'^  -°-  --to 
Duiid  on.  How  can  we  erect  a  society  on  foun- 
dations that  already  have  the  element  of  decay 
Tuptrru'lT:?"  ^''^  ""''''  ^''•^  «-  '^^-  °f  - 

it  S' f  firS'  IlTl  ^'l?  '^"''"^  '^='"•''8  against 
"R  /!!^  '      '^  '°*'^'".8  **"*  '"to  the  darkness. 
But  what  can  you  do,  all  by  yourself?" 
303 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"Very  little;  but  a  little  is  something.  It 
isn  t  altogether  the  success  or  the  failure  that  I'm 
thinking  about;    it's  the  principle." 

"Oh,  if  you're  going  to  live  by  principles—" 

"We've  got  to  live  by  something.  When  the 
woyld  IS  coming  down  about  our  heads." 

''If  it's  doing  that,  one  man  can't  hold  it  up." 

"No;  but  a  good  many  men  may.  I'm  not 
the  only  one  who's  trying." 

"I  never  heard  of  any  one  trying  it  like  that 
...  by  going  back  to  the  foundational,  as  you 
call  jt." 

"Oh,  I  think  you  have.  The  Man  who  more 
than  any  other  has  helped  the  human  race  did 
just  that  thing.  You're  strict  about  going  to 
church  on  Sunday." 

She  was  slightly  shocked.  "I  presume  you're 
not  gomg  to  try  to  be  like  Him." 

"Perhaps  not.     I  may  not  aim  so  high.     I'm 
only  pointing  out  the  fact  that  going  back  to  the 
foundational  and  beginning  there  again  was  His 
method.     Others  have  followed  it,  a  good  many. 
All  the  work  connected  with  what  we  call  Settle- 
ments— " 
"I  never  could  bear  them." 
"Possibly;  but  that  isn't  the  point.     I'm  only 
saying  that  in  their  way  settlement  workers  have 
been  feeling  out  the  special  weakness  of  our  civ- 
ilization,  and   doing  their  best  to  meet  it.     I 
suppose  our  politicians  and  clergymen  and  econo- 
mists have  been  doing  the  same.    The  trouble 
with  them  is  that  they  so  generally  nip  the  symp- 
304 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

torn  while  leaving  the  root  of  the  disease  that 

they  don't  accomplish  muc'i." 

werS'^°"  ^'^^'"P''^'^  -""^^h  yourself  when  you 

for"^  It'?Inl7-  ^  '•'''">  'I'  ^''^'^  I  ^^  ^•'ere 
tor.  It  s  only  since  coming  back  here  that  I've 
begun  to  understand  why  I  was  led  the  way  I 
Was.  ■' 

"i'^rTavrhSr^^'^-"^^ 

ittiiT?;JK'  J.,"" "  •'r^  •'*'•  I  *«»"'*  *e« 

It  till-^,11  th,s  afternoon.    And  now-now  I've 
done  with  all  this.     I've  done  with  the  easv 

waited  on.    I  m  „ot  say.ng  it  isn't  all  right;  it's 

els^no   'tk'''  ^°'  ""    ^'^«  «''*  --"hlng 

well  I,  T  J       ^'■''  ''^''  =*  "'"''  y'*"  '^o^  «  « 
well  as  I  do.  when  a  poor  man  was  an  offense  to 

me   and  an  uncultivated  person  an  abhorrence. 

I  was  a  snob  from  every  point  of  view,  and  I  was 

proud  of  being  one.    And  now— " 

Pulhng  down  the  shade  and  turning  completelv 

'•'y.'V'  '^nT>^  r.^  ^"  ^'"'^  "  ^h'e  window   "^ 
Yes,  Billy.?    And  now?" 

"It's  no  use.  I  can't  tell  you.  I  couldn't  ex- 
plam  If  I  ,.sed  up  all  the  words  in  the  dictionar^. 
wherr^'%*l!T^  in  my  heart  to  get  back 
7u  t7  .}  "??  ^  s"^<Jen  mspiration.  "Read 
that,  I  sa,d,  taking  Felly's  letter  from  my  pocket 
w  305 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

She  stood  under  the  central  bunch  of  electrics 
while  I  dosed  the  suitcase  and  fastened  the. 
straps  Having  finished  the  letter,  she  handed 
It  back  to  me. 

"Well?"  I  asked. 

"It's  just— just  a  common  person's  letter,  as 
tar  as  1  see,  and  rather  coarse.     Boosey  might 

..\  ^""«n  ">  or  Miles,  the  chauffeur." 
And  that's  all  you  see  in  it?" 

''What  more  is  there  to  see?" 

i'T'?"'*J"",i*-     '^^^^'^  J""  wliere  the  inex- 
plicable thing  lies.     I  see,  or  rather  I  feel,  a 
tenderness  m  it  that  probably  no  one  could  detect 
but  myself.     Even  the  reference  to  drinking—" 
Ihe  quart." 
"Yes;    the  quart.     You've  got  to  remember 
how  small  the  margin  for  pleasure  is  in  a  life  like 
iam  s,  and  how  innocently  he  and  Bridget  and 
Jim  can  do  what  they  had  much  better  let  alone. 
1  hey  re  not  vicious;  they're  only— how  shall  I 
say  ■■— they  re  only  undeveloped.     We're  not  such 
saints  ourselves,  even  with  our  development;  and 
when  all  cmhzation  has  bent  its  efforts,  church 
and  state  together,  to  keep  their  minds  as  primi- 
tive as  possible  so  that  they'll  do  the  most  primi- 
tive kinds  of  work,  you  can't  blame  them  if  they 
take  their  pleasures  and  everything  else  primi- 
tively.    We  ve  got  to  have  another  educational 
system. 

"But  they  say  our  educational  system  is  very 
good  as  It  is."  ' 

"As  far  as  it  goes;  but  we  still  have  one  system 
306 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
for  the  rich  and  another  for  the  poor,  and  we 
shall  never  get  equality  of  mind  tillwe  have 
equahty  of  educational  oppo  tunity.     But  that's 

I  Won?"'':,  ^'  ^"  ''■="'«''  ^''^"''"-    As  Jar  as 
In,  concerned  it  sums  .tself  up  in  the  urging  that 

takes  me  back  among  simple  people  because- 

because  I  love  them.  Vio;   that's  the  only  word 

tor  It,  and  m  their  way  they've  loved  me." 

iJJIf  /^""ossed  the  room  aimlessly. 

Other-other  people  have-have  loved  you.  as 
you  call  It.  who-who  mayn't  have  been  simpk  '' 

Y-yes.  But-but  in  the  cup  they  handed  to 
me  there  were  bitter  ingredients.  In  the  cup 
1  m   talking  of  there    was  only  .  .      love      It 

TtlvH^'  ""'".•'''"«•  awkward,  mannish  love. 
If  you  like;  but  it  was  .  .  .  love.  It  was  the 
pure,  unadulterated  thing,  as  unconscious  of  it! 
se  f  as  the  air  is.  The  girl  who  was  here  th  s 
afternoon  is  an  example  of  it.  For  anything  I 
know,  she  was  an  idiot  to  have  come;  but  she 
"hV  ?,°°'' .'°"''  'because  she  thought—" 
Well,  what  did  she  think.?" 

J'^u^u  '^  ^'^^  ^"""'^  ^"«  °»t  of  the  way  I 
should  have  a  better  chance  with  you." 

bhe  was  still  moving  aimlessly  about  the  room 
P-king  up  small  objects  and  putting  them  S 

after  Ir'i^'t'  '"'^  ^^'^-  ^'"^  '^^""l^  "°""d 
after  her,  its  her  expression,  for  nearly  three 

is   "si"   '"^  P"«'""y  certain  knowledge  that 

30? 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

.Jr!lli"u**'  T'  '^"  "^  *=»"'<'  ""any  him  if 
.lie  liked,  but  that  she  didn't  want  to."  '      ""  " 
1  don  t  know  anything  about  that." 

n«,k  M     T'  '^''*  'V?  "  »"'  "*>«=  *"<>.  "  would 
probably    be     .     without    marriage,    as    she 

didn't  wish  to  be  bound  to  him." 

I  looked  up  in  curiosity. 

"And  did  she  say  there  was  anv  possibility  of 
hergomgwithhimatall?"  "'"ly  or 

h^dnW^tV"^  ''  ■"""'  °J  ""^-  She  said  she 
hadnt  decided,  or  something  like  that;  but  as 
she  was  going  to  be  an  ad  enturess  she  had  to 
bepn  some  time,  and  perhaps  it  might  as  well  be 
with  him  as  with  any  one  else.     She  spoke  as  if 

him  a;!;."""'^  ""'  '"  ""  "''^  »'''"-  *»"»- 

Agai;i  I  decided  to  be  cruel. 

"It  very  likely  does." 

She  was  standing  now  by  my  dressing-table, 
and^as^if  my  words  had  meant  nothing^  he; 

•'nk'"T*  ^°",8°'"8  to  take  your  hair-brush?" 
^h,  1  was  forgetting  to  put  it  in.    Thanks." 

hand    "     ''*'"'        "  "'"'  """^  ^''•'^'"g  't  in  her 

on'S*d1d';:u'g«Tt^^'^"«  ^'^«'    ^''"'^ 
thbgs'Xnl"  ""  "  ''°""'  ^^"^  *•'«  -»•" 

tf,r?''^^'"J  '^^•"T*'""    She  moved  toward 

the  door.     "Your  other  brushes,  the  ebony  ones 

308 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
with  the  silver  initials,  that  I  gave  you  before- 
before  we  were  married,  are  here.    They  were 

They  forwarded  them  to  me.     Shouldn't  you- 
shouldn't  you  like  them  ?" 

sui7met«eT"    ^^   ^°"   "'  '--"   ^'""^ 

I  was  doing  the  last  things  about  the  room 

She  was  standing  w,th  her  hand  on  the  knob  of 

And  when  you're  back  in  New  York,  Billr 

At  first." 
"And  later.?" 

hi  Til'*"'  Tu  '^  '^"'''^'  ^'"^  ^''•'^l'  I  knew  I 
had  taken  all  the  contents. 

"You  mean  when  we're  both  .  .      free'" 
Suppose  I  put  it  .  .  .  when  you're  free?" 
Uh,  then  there  may  be  .  .  .  some  one  else." 
Some  one  ...  1  know?" 
I  delved  into  another  drawer,  hiding  my  face 
borne  one  you  may  have  heard  of;  but  I  don't 
1  don  t  think  you  know  her." 

S.r  T  K  A  Tc  '•'n '"  '•'^  '°*""-    Ten  minutes 
!^her  sSe  ''''  '''  '"""  ^*''«"*  =*  ^"^'^y  "" 
On  the  door-step,  in  my  working-man's  cos- 
tume, and  with  the  everlasting  bag  and  suit-case 

309 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

in  my  hands,  I  looked  up  at  a  starry,  windy  sky, 
with  the  trees  of  the  Common  tossing  beneath  it! 
My  God,  what  an  end  I"  I  cried,  inwardly 
But  as  far  as  my  knowledge  or  purpose  went, 
an  end  it  was. 


CHAPTER  II 
"VJOBLE  intentions  being  easier  to  conceive 

.        °°^":       ^  he  sense  of  adventure  was  oi.^  «f 

mgs  with  a  point  of  interrogatLr  ^  "' 

me  back  tJf  '"  "y  those  who  welcomed 

"etSSd'::.pty."  """"'''^  '"  ^''^  ^P-t  of  a 
SmiS^'  ^?'  "'^  ™""'''  '*■  y°»  ^««  it,"  was  Miss 

that  of  pTea'sure    ^' wlT'T  ^^'^  "°*  ^''""^ 
that  yoSr  S  dutSL^triX^ii 
your  movements  for  the  future  " 
I  had  pricked  their  little  bubble  of  romance, 
311 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

and  they  were  disappointed.  That  one  who  had 
been  their  lodger  was  now  with  the  Oljrmpian 
gods  was  a  tale  to  be  told  as  long  as  they  had  a 
room  to  let,  and  to  every  one  who  rented  one. 
I  saw  at  once  that  I  couldn't  ask  them  to  believe 
that  I  had  come  back  of  my  own  free  will.  The 
very  magnitude  of  my  hopes  compelled  me  to  be 
silent  with  regard  to  them. 

"Punkr*  was  Felly's  comment,  when  I  braced 
myself  to  tell  him  I  had  found  home  life  disillu- 
sioning. 

That  was  across  the  table  of  the  familiar  eating- 
house,  as  we  took  our  first  meal  together.  I  was 
obhged  to  explain  myself  for  the  reason  that  in 
the  back  of  his  mind,  also,  I  read  the  conviction 
that  I  hadn't  "made  good."  Compelled  to  be 
more  pnmitive  than  I  should  have  liked,  I  had  to 
buse  my  dissatisfaction  on  the  grounds  of  physi- 
cal restriction  rather  than  on  those  of  divine  dis- 
content. 

"Some  of  them  Boston  women  will  put  the  Kd 

on  a  man  and  lock  it  down,"  he  observed  further. 

Punk,  I  call  it.    Well,  now  that  you've  broken 

loose,  and  with  your  wad,  I  suppose  you'll  be 

givin'  yourself  a  little  run." 

I  allowed  him  to  make  this  assumption,  thank- 
ful that  he  should  understand  me  from  any  point 
of  view;  but  it  was  not  the  point  of  view  of  our 
former  cimnection.  That  a  man  should  be  down 
on  his  luck  was  one  thing;  but  that,  having  got 
on  his  feet,  he  should  deliberately  become  a  waster 
was  another.  In  any  light  but  that  of  a  reversion 
312 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

TJZ  TVu  T^^  "'.^"  ^'""^  "»'»«  Sam  see  my 
return  to  the  house  in  Meeting-House  Green 
For  low  tastes  he  had  the  same  tolerat  on  as T; 
misdemeanors;   but  he  did  not  disguSe  "he  faa 

sterethrLtn'e:'  '^  ''^  ^^^  ^-- 

the'ithlr'T''  ^'''«""'"  ^"'•eet  called  out  to 
!r  °  f "  "r;  ""  "'""8  '"«'  enter  the  cavern 
where  four  of  them  were  at  the  accustomed  woJk 
unpS"^'  con^'gnment  that  had  just  leen 
Tr^  k  ^"."''S  '^^  sheepskins  were  still 
strewn  about  the  floor,  so  that  I  had  to  r^tr^S 

Pffjfr°  "f  ^'^^^  "P  -«•  stack  tw" 
rerhaps  I  can  best  compare  mv  return  to  tL* 
of  a  spirit  which  has  pasled  t^ahtTr  sphere 
"gooses  to  be  for  a  short  time  .SmbSe^ 
tV^  Si  /  •  ""^  '  ""'"  '^Or  man,  a  strange 
ZZ'  ?  u"' ".'"  *«* ""«  solemnly.  My^^^t 
r«L^  ^    "  *"''""•  "^  "  «=°"des«„sion.  S  rs  a 

thatThadT"^'"'""  ^?  **'«  °'^  «fe.  From 
frr  i ''»**.''«?'  projected  forever  by  the  shew 
J^.«  of  not  havmg  to  earn  a  living  in  d.is  humble 

saidfl^es'o"  el?  "*"  ^°"'''=  ''^^'^''"  G-Hivan 
"And  why   shouldn't   he    be   lookin'  well  " 

S^fe'^TK^i  "'"''  ''™  ^'^  -n-e  bmer 

f  "t  .   jS**  ■'^"'^  *°  spread  «  on  ?" 
,      It  s  different  with  us,"  the  Finn  said,  bitterly 
with  no  butter  and  not  enough  bread.  ;„d  more 
313 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

mourfis  to  feed  than  can  ever  be  filled      T'l.  k 
you  Broean  doesnV  i-l,;„i,    r  .       """'•    ^  "  bet 
got  his  f^  t^;  f„t"    "^"'""'  ""'^  ^«  ^^'^ 
It  seemed  to  me  an  opening. 

^nSaTmiSheto/^-^-^ 
pass  th^  buirrrVL/doX"- wf  '°"'^ 

caus'e"?  "a:k  °th:  '''■^^  "  "'^^  theTuf^st  be- 

Pray  for  us   B^an      Ve"  ""^  '°^^'^"'°  ^-^ 
j^,f  .orogan.     Ye  ve  got  nothing  else  to 

«*t'''\^°^^'"  opening. 
Icnoiri  L'&'^Tvou 'r  ^"-"^  ^''«  I  don't 

He  nodded;^th  bertified""^"^''"*-" 
leathery  old  f^cT  "*''''  aspiration   in  his 

M^i:;^|!'rn/yfsom«h'^'^  r  ^^'='' ^«  H°'y 
v'are   ii/w  fc    ^    ""•"""'"g,  Protestant  thoueh 

rent  comb'  drthe  n  "*''  'f"!'  '^''  ^^''  ^he 
new  Br^gTn  »  he  Jonf  "  T""? '  'T''"  «  *»>« 
hand  toward  the  dark  r^^'  "^'^  l^''^^  "^  J'" 
withagHn.    "H;t?;^K-tdt^^^^^^^^ 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

heard  of  no  such  „«.t  ai I'h  f  •  f  V  ''"*  ^  '"■^" 
country.  We  nivveThJ  »^'  *•"  \  *=*""•=  *°  ^^is 
-ataU^  There  wrSl  ""  '^  '"''»"'  «  =>» 
and  men  fi^^m  tlS.tv  Mo^K  ^"r^™^"' 
ver  heard  tell  of  noPoks  ^Z'^''\^t'  ^  '''^- 

::;?SS::^5%;:?-n-^ffi?^ 

con^vet  tioI^'aS  ^'^  ''''  "?  *™«  ^^  '""her 

totellyoubUl  I?r'''^',rr'''"*f°^'»« 

theirfelloUrl^heltoXfw  ■'TT'' ^^^ 
but  the  knowledge  th«TJ^    t'^=y%''e  fnendly; 

and  flesh  of  dSr  flLh  ilTl!  ^T  °^  *^"'  •«"« 
outcome  of  a^mmon  '„!/'' '"''  °?"  *•«"  *h« 
nor  mine.  I  STKt 'aT^m '•  "^J  *''"" 
committal  way  as  oft«  a  "icVos:  butlTT; 
never  get  any  farther  *''**"'*' 

other  was  difFe««     Ut.  ,"'"l!"?  V'^"*'  "ch 
I  sometimes  wonder  if  you're  all  there  "         ** 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 


Before  that  she  had  been  sym- 


life,  and  failed, 
pathetic. 

Our  first  conversation  had  been  over  the  tele- 
phone, when  I  had  called  up  Clotilde's  to  ask  if 
Miss  Biair  had  returned  from  Boston. 

"wh^J-rtwlfj' "  ^"^  ''''°"^'"  ^-  *^«  «p'y- 

Somewhat  timidly  I  said  I  was  Mr.  Harrowby, 
repeating  the  name  twice  before  she  recognized 
It  as  mme.  Having  invited  her  to  dine  with  me 
and  go  to  the  theater  I  got  a  quavering,  "Sure!" 
which  lacked  her  usual  spontaneity 

..'You  don't  seem  pleased,"  I  said. 

.      y/*'.l  ">  pleased  enough.    I'm  only  wonder- 
ing if— if  you  are." 

«™^V  shouldn't  I  be,  when  I've  asked  you?" 
Well,  I  put  my  foot  in  it  for  fair,  didn't  I  ?" 
You  mean  m  Boston  ?    Oh,  that  was  all  right 
1  know  you  meant  to  do  me  a  good  turn:  and 
perhaps  you've  done  it." 

"Oh,  I  meant  to;  but  I  sure  did  get  a  lesson. 
My  mother  used  to  tell  me  to  keep  my  fingers  out 
of  other  people  s  pies;  and  I'm  going  to  from  this 
time  on. 

In  the  evening,  seated  opposite  me  at  the  little 
table  at  Josephine's,  with  the  din  of  a  hundred 
diners  giving  us  a  sort  of  privacy,  she  told  me 
more  about  it. 

"You  see,  it  was  this  way:  He'd  always  been 
talking  to  me  about  this  rich  young  Boston 
widow  he  d  met  at  Palm  Beach,  trying  to  get  my 

ti6 


a  8ook1id«  or^2'''"8  ^^  ---Id  say.    He's 

he  sprang  that  on  me  Ta^  fi,    '"''"*?*'  *°  •»*  that 
•ne  to  study,  and  t™a^'whi  ^'  '^^^  ''"^  ""x^^'  ^r 

Did  he  call  tW       ^-  ^iS""  *  •"  «•" 
vampiir  ""  ''"*-^'»»  Boston  lady  ,  dressy 

for'a^y^t'l"o'CX^  ^^^ -'^  that 
she  was  a  smart  style  A  v»  "  "*^  '''""P'"' 
avampire,  or  she  might  i^T^''"  """""'*  '«'^ 
TJe  one  thing  I  critici:^T„  a*  ""^^'^•'"""ess. 
•The  Scarlet  Sin'  was  £  ,  ^«'"'  ^""''"n  ^n 
t'sed  he«elf  so  muTh  as  an  ,7°"'""  '"'"'  ^"^^er- 

«J.f*-    7°"  'l  go  m  for  a  finer  art  » 

« wLi  tt5s*u;:  ^«  °^'  -"-- 

To  go  back  to  what  he  was  all''"'*  *"•  *'"  >"'"• 
this  Boston  lady,  it  made\^i    ^*  "^'"8  "'«>« 

InthecorsetbusLssrdttTnVm  J  *•  ^  ''"• 
many  society  women  "  !^    ""r '"*''»  8ood 

gumps.  FororSval  •  °'l  "'^  '''«'«  ^e« 
dred  with  the  kift  aTT  ^''=  ^'^'^  »  •>""- 
•"adc  me  all  the  crater  .n'**  ""f""-  *"»* 
fhout  it  and  thoughnbout  if' Th''  ^  *'"'"«''* 
Harry  called  me  on  th/'nJ,  ^''*"'  ""«  day, 

he's  living  witTthe  A^efc^  T~  J°"  ^^ 
Mountney-    Well,  w A  tj J^e  t^^  ^I.- 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

were,  and  that  the  lady  wasn't  a  widow  any  more 
than  I  am,  well,  I  simply  laid  down  and  passed 
away.  To  thmk  that  you,  the  fellow  we'd  been 
putting  down  as  a  mystery  and  a  swell  crook—" 
What  did  you  put  me  down  fpr  then  when 
you  found  out? 

"We  didn't  get  a  line  on  it  all  at  once.    That 
was  later.     Mrs.  Mountney  told  Lulu,  and  Dick 
btroud  told  me,  and  so—" 
"Did  you  all  believe  what  you  heard?" 
It  was  pretty  hard  not  to,  wasn't  it?  after  the 
queer  things  you'd  been  doing.     There  was  just 
one  person  who  stuck  it  out  that  it  wasn't  true; 
and  that  was  little  Milly.     She  didn't  say  much 
to  the  family;  but  to  me  she  declared  that  if  all 
the  armies  in  France  were  to  swear  to  it,  she'd 
still  know  there  was  some  mistake.    She's  another 
one  1  can  t  make  out." 

.^L^L*^^"'*  ^°"  ""^^^  °"*  about  her?" 
Whether  she's  got  a  heart  in  her  body,  or 
only  a  hard-boiled  egg." 

"Oh,  I  fancy  she  has  a  heart  all  right." 
I  used  to  fancy  the  same  thing,  or  rather  I 
took  It  tor  granted;  but  ever  since—    Well  she 
just  stumps  me." 

She  reverted  to  her  errand  in  Boston  and  what 
came  of  it. 

"It  wasn't  till  I  began  to  hear  of  what  was 
going  on  there  that  it  seemed  to  me—"  the  veil 
o  tears  to  which  her  eyes  were  hable  descended 
like  a  distant  mist-"that  it  seemed  to  me  a 
darned  shame. 

318 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

rb^n'g^  S^k^^ru?  -  ^-i"  I  didn't  see  how 
"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

sp-M,,  back,  1,'  £  ™?d  °  rS,  ™  "°,  ?* 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

when  I  let  her  have  the  whole  bunch  of  truth,  she 
took  it  like  a  rag  doll  will  take  a  pin-prick.  Never 
moved  a  muscle,  or  showed  that  it  wasn't  just  my 
story,  and  not  a  bit  her  own.  Of  course  I  took 
my  cue  from  that— it  was  my  line  all  along— and 
was  just  the  poor  working-girl  telling  her  life  his- 
tory to  a  sympathetic  lady,  just  as  they  hand  it 
out  m  books;  but  she  carried  the  thing  <^  some- 
thmg  swell.  In  fact,  she  made  me  more  than 
half  think—" 

"What?"  I  questioned,  when  she  held  her  idea 
suspended  there. 

"I  don't  believe  I'll  tell  you.  There  are  things 
a  man  had  better  find  out  for  himself;  do  you 
know  it?" 

"I  sha'n't  find  out  anything  for  myself,"  I 
said,  "because— because  I've  given  up  the  fi^t." 

She  stared  at  me  with  eyes  wide  open  in  incred- 
ulous horror. 

"You've  given  up  the  fight  for  a  peach  like 
that  I  Well,  of  all  the  poor  boobs  I"  Leaning 
back  in  her  chair  she  scanned  my  appearance. 
"I  thought  there  was  something  wrong  when  I 
saw  you  got  up  like  that.  You  can  beat  Walter 
Hames,  the  quick-change  man,  when  it  comes  to 
clothes,  believe  me.  What  have  you  got  on 
now?" 

I  explained  that  it  had  been  my  Sunday  suit 
during  the  time  I  had  been  working  at  Creed  & 
Creed's. 

"Then  for  Gawd's  sake  go  and  take  it  off,  be- 
fore we  start  for  the  theater.  I'll  wait  for  you 
320 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

here.    You  can  go  and  come  in  a  taxi.    I've  been 

h^^,!  «  yo".all  along,  and  thinking  it  must  be 

the  latest  wnnk  e  from   Boston.    Boston  A« 

funny  ways,  now  hasn't  it?    And  so— " 

It  was  here  that  I  ventured  on  the  exposition 

beyond  the  question  as  to  my  sanity  quoted 

it'  K^"T"l'^"Jr'""8»*'»ft"tl'etheater, 
I  drove  her  back  to  Miss  Flowerdew's  in  a  taxi 
she  summed  up  the  situation  thus: 

Look-a-herel  I  never  did  take  stock  in  that 
bum  story  of  your  bemg  a  quitter  on  the  battle- 
field;  but  now  I  sure  will  if  you  walk  out  and 
hand  the  show  over  to  Dick  Stroud.  Why.  he's 
worth  two  of  you!  Look  how  he  sticks!  He'll 
get  me  one  of  these  days,  just  by  his  sticking,  if 
I  m  n«  carefcl;  and  when  it  comes  to  a  woman 

iuk  ,  ^^i  ^  "  "'^""^  *°  80  round  with 

such  a  guy.  And  say,  the  next  time  you  ask  me 
to  dmner,  you  11  not  be  got  up  like  the  bogi«sman 
dres^d  for  his  wife's  funeral.  You'll  l^k  like 
you  did  the  other  day  in  Boston,  or  the  first  time 
'^  ^^'  **'  "  ^"  •**  "«  O"  '»"'e  Lydia." 
Unnkwater's  tone  was  similar  and  yet  differ- 
ent. It  was  different  in  that  while  his  premises 
as  to  sticking  comcided  with  Lydia's,  his  con- 
clusions were  not  the  same. 

Perhaps  he  was  not  the  same  Drinkwater 
More  than  two  years  having  passed  since  I  had 
seen  him,  I  found  in  him  more  than  two  years  of 
development.  A  crude  boy  when  last  we  had 
met,  assoaation  with  a  man  like  Averill,  com- 

21  32J 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
bined  with  his  own  inninct  for  growth  haJ  ma  J. 
him  something  of  a  man  of  the  toKoi  i^fi! 
sympathetic  for  h«  honest  pug-face  i.d'h^^^^^ 
hfrn,*  V?       "  *''."  *"*  '^^^  «"«  to  dine  with 

He  gave  me  his  confidences  before  I  offered 
nune   sketchmg  a  career  in  which  stenogSv 

d«aikof '^'"^'t'u"*"^'''-     From  many  of  d.e 

htSnfctirm^^s^S^^^^ 

wavth^''^"'^-  u"^'^'^  "bout'sticLg,  Se 
way  that  girl's  stuck  to  me  in  every  kind  of  rith* 

toTu'u  tt*"'^*  ''^^''^  of  othe^K  1*£ 
th/&V"!i°"  f  *'•*'  J***'"  thejTgrt  into!  T 
the  Middle  Ages  she'd  have  been  a  sai^  Now 
she  s  just  an  up-to-date  New  York  girl  » 

oy  the  time  he  had  fin-    led  thiV:  rK,.,.^     t 
was  ready  to  tell  him  a  part  ^f  my  o^JS^le 

onethad  mr'A''"  ""'^  -spon^sivTtJaVat' 
F«nr!^  I,  "^  *?  '"^  "*"*'•'  misfortunes  in 

tts.  Vh:rf'c?nre"trr  t^'^"^  •i"- 

8-     wnen  i  came  to  what  I  painted  as 

322 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

«veo„cou„trra:J?„,iTthrt^^^ 

of  class-contribution  is  almost  the  ifr^      §  ^ 

ties,  but  what  we  can  do  is  to  get  the  classes  thl» 

"Say,  I'll  give  you  a  line  on  that      TV  „ 
know  how  a  young  fellow  in  a  county  tS^^^!; 

323 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

don't  know  anything  about  swell  places  like  New 
York — becomes  a  barber?" 

I  said  I  didn't,  that  I  had  never  given  a  thought 
to  the  subiect. 

"Well,   he  doesn't   learn,   and   nobody  ever 
teaches  him.     He  just  sits  round  in  the  barber 
shop,  brushmg  hats  and  hanging  up  overcoats, 
and  wishing  to  the  Lord  he  toas  a  barber,  and  all 
of  a  sudden  he  w  one.     He's  watched  the  shaves 
and  hair-chps,  hardly  knowing  he's  been  doing  it, 
but  wishmg  like  blazes  all  the  while,  and  at  last 
It  comes  to  him  like  song  to  a  young  bird.    Now 
you  ve  got  to  sit  round.    Sit  tight  and  sit  round. 
Wish  and  watch,  and  watch  and  wish,  and  the 
divine  urge  that  turns  a  youngster  into  a  barber, 
because  that's  what  he's  got  his  heart  on,  will 
steer  you  into  the  right  way.     This  isn't  going 
to  be  anything  you  can  learn,  as  you'd  learn  to 
drive  a  motor  or  dissect  a  dead  body.     It  won't 
be  a  profession,  it'll  be  a  life,  that'll  show  you  the 
tnck.     Don't  try  to  hurry  things,  Jasper;   and 
don  t  expect  that  three  weeks  or  three  months 
or  thrw  years  are  going  to  make  this  mum  old 
world  fork  you  out  its  secrets.    Just  stick,  and 
If  you  don  t  do  the  thing  you're  aiming  at  you'U 
do  another  just  as  useful.     Why,  the  doctor  was 
going  to  chuck  all  his  experiments  on  the  influ- 
enza bug  when  I  persuaded  him  to  keep  at  it;  and 
so  he  discovered  the  thing  that  scientists  have 
been  after  since  Dockendorifthought  he'd  tracked 
It  down  as  long  ago  as  1893.    AU  sticking!" 


CHAPTER  III 

I  CONFESS  that  I  was  comforted  by  these 
hearty  words,  and  braced  in  a  determination 
that  was  beginning  to  splutter  out.  Drinkwater't 
diione  urge  was  not  unlike  my  own  thread  of  flame 
and  £)enis  s  Holy  Mother,  who  was  a  light  even 
to  the  feet  of  Protestants.  It  was  the  same  prin- 
ciple—that of  a  guide,  an  impulse,  an  illumina- 
tion, which  our  own  powers  could  generate  when 
hfted  up  to,  and  associated  with,  the  universal 
.M?r  L     *?•     ^    decided   to   take   his    formula. 

Wish  and  watch,  and  watch  and  wish,"  as  the  de- 
vice of  my  knight-errantry.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
by  the  sheer  process  of  wishing  I  secured  a  second- 
ary position  for  myself  in  the  textile  department 
of  the  Metropolitan  Museum,  while  by  that  of 
watching  I  found  that  one  of  Bridget's  boys  and 
two  of  the  Finn's  had  aptitudes  highly  worth 
developing  right  along  this  line.  It  wasn't  much ; 
but  It  was  a  beginning  in  the  way  in  which  I 
hoped  to  go,  and  might  lead  to  something  more. 

In  all  this  time,  as  you  can  imagine,  Vio  was 

my  ruhng  thought,  and  guessing  her  intentions 

my    daily   occupation.     Since   she    presumably 

wanted  a  divorce,  there  were  doubtless  grounds 

3*5 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

on  which  she  could  secure  one  by  going  the  right 
way  to  work;  but  as  to  whether  she  was  doing 
this  or  not  nothing  had  yet  been  said  to  me 
Nothing  was  said  to  me  of  any  kind.  I  had  not 
written  toller,  nor  had  she  to  me;  and  my  other 
communication  with  Boston  was  only  through 
my  bankers.  Even  that  was  growing  more  ir- 
repilar  smce  I  had  changed  my  business  address 
to  Meetmg-House  Green. 

T  ^"l  ':.^^'  '^*''**y  seeking  was  forgetfulness. 
l^ia  had  reproached  me  with  being  a  "poor 
fcpob    m  ^vipg  up  the  struggle  for  Vio's  love; 
but  Lydia  hadn't  known  the  wound  Vio  had  in- 
Hicted.    The  more  I  thought  of  that  the  more 
1  telt  It  due  to  the  dignity  of  love  to  attempt 
neither  explanation  nor  defense.    On  mere  cir- 
cumstantial  evidence  Vio  had  believed  me  guilty 
of  the  crime  she  would  probably  have  rated  as  the 
blackest  m  the  calendar.    I  couldn't  forgive  that 
I  had  no  intention  of  forgiving  it.    The  more  I 
.  loved  her  the  less  I  could  forget  that  she  had 
returned  my  love  in  this  way.    The  most  chival- 
rous thmg  I  could  do,  the  most  merciful  toward 
her,  and  the  most  tender  was  what  I  was  doing     I 
could  leave  her  without  a  contradiction,  so  justi- 
tying  tacitly  whatever  she  may  have  thought, 
and  putting  no  restraint  on  her  future  Uberty  of 
action.  •' 

I  said  so  to  Mildred  Averill  when  we  talked  it 

over  about  the  middle  of  March.    I  had  not  in- 

tended  to  renew  this  connection  unless  a  sign  was 

made  from  the  other  side;  but  it  was  given  in  the 

326 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
form  of  a  line  from  Miss  Averill  begging  me  to 
come  and  see  her  in  the  apartment  shS  Taken 

Vli    *?  Knowmg  that  my  duties  kept  me 

Zt'  "°^-    ^  !''»<!  "oticed  then,  she  hfd 
Es'^°d^Sr^''  -^"^  -  -P--  of-st- 

shriJnlafni?""''*  ^  ''''"'*  """^gle  SO  much." 

tK;i  I'uiS  Jot  •"  ""''•  ''"•  "°*  "'"'y 

n^Jto^^  rr^or"  ''•"'^^  '"="^''  -•'  ^°- 

wouMn'J°k1  *'''T  ~""=-    Tl'«'s  what  I 
wouldn  t  do  before.     I  wanted  to  hurry  them  to 

we  succeed  b^-'J^"  '"—  ''^"'"^'  "^^  *'''' 
we  succeed  best  by  gettmg  into    t  and  lettine 

It  cany  us  onward."  'ctting 

"But  doesn't  that  theory  tend  to  take  away 

ones  own  mitiative?"  «  «way 

a'J.,^T'1  ^"^  *''"  initiative  is  any  good  if  it's 

dirmed  the  wrong  way.     Did  you  eveTwa  ch  , 

eaf  bemg  earned  down-stream?    As  long  as  it's 

in  the  current  It  goes  swiftly  and  safely     Then 

sTd™?''  T^^'  "  ""^  '^'°'''  "  "to  s^me  ittle 

side-pool  or  backwater,  where  it  goes  fretting  and 

swirlmg  and  tearing  itself  to  pi^es  and  never 

3»7 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

ptting  anywhere.  Well,  it's  something  like  that. 
I  was  in  a  side-pool,  lashing  round  and  round  and 
churning  my  spirit,  such  as  it  is,  into  nervous  irri- 
tations of  every  kind,  making  myself  the  more 
funous  because  my  efforts  were  to  no  purpose." 
And  how  did  you  get  out  into  the  current 
agamr 

"By  wishing,  in  the  first  place.  It  began  to 
seem  to  me  such  a  foolish  thing  that,  being  given 
all  the  advantages  m  the  world,  I  could  do  noth- 
mg  but  frustrate  them.  I  was  like  a  person  with 
a  pack  of  cards  in  his  hand,  not  knowing  how  to 
play  any  game.  I  longed  to  learn  one,  even  the 
simplest;  and  I  think  it  was  the  idea  of  the  sim- 
plest  that  saved  me." 

wrtu*  ^*  *"''  •*''"  ^  ^"  *''"'  **"*  simplest." 
Oh,  It  s  nothing  abstruse  or  original.  I  sup- 
pose It  s  no  more  than  the  accepted  principle  of 
domg  the  duty  that's  nearest.  Hitherto,  I'd 
felt  that  nothmg  was  a  real  duty  but  what  was 
far  away.  Then  I  began  to  see  that  right  unde? 
our  own  roof—  You  see,  Boyd  and  Lulu  weren't 
very  happy,  and  I'd  been  leaving  them  to  shift 
for  themselves  while  I  tried  to  do  things  for 
people  like  Lydia  Blair  and  Harry  Drinkwater, 
and  a  k>t  of  others  who  were  perfectly  well  able 
to  take  care  of  themselves.  So  I  began  to  won- 
der if  I  couldn't  .  .  .  and  to  wish.  .  .  ,  And  it's 
so  curious!  The  minute  I  did  that  the  things  I 
could  do  were  nght  there  just  as  if  they'd  been 
starmg  me  m  the  face  for  years,  and  I  hadn't  had 
the  eyes  to  see  them." 

328 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"What  sort  of  things?" 

J!r?^'  M'*"l•'^';'^  "'•""'8  when  it  conies  to 
words  Not  b.g  thmgs.  little  things.  If  Lulu 
wanted  somethmg  she  couldn't  find  in  New  York, 
a  particular  sort  of  scarf  or  piece  of  music  no 
matter  what,  I'd  tell  Boyd  and  he'd  send  for  k 
and,  of  course,  you  see!  Or  if  Lulu  said  anythine 
nice  about  Boyd,  which  she  did  now  and  thS.  "d 

"f  thW  l^'  °V'"'"«  ^"•»-  That's  the  'son 
of  thuig  nothing  when  you  come  to  talk  about  it. 
and  yet  m  practice  That's  what  I  mean  1^^  the 
simplew,  the  easiest,  and  most  natural;  and  so 
I  formed  a  kmd  of  principle." 

Only  that,  whoever  you  are,  your  work  is 
ffven  you;  you  don't  have  to  go  into  the  high- 
ways and  hedges  to  look  for  it.    That  q*er 

.^fi«?"7  ^'i"''J^='"''  «''7'*  •"«  ^'^  ««=«t  of 
It  hi«.    1  asked  him  one  day  how  it  was  that 

i^rr'&^raiit'T/T'-^^''-^^^ 

so  well.  He  said  he  had  only  one  recipe  for 
succ««,  which  was  wishing  and  watching  and 
watching  and  wishing.  He  said  there  was  no 
door  that  wouldn't  open  to  you  of  its  own  accord 
If  you  stood  before  it  long  enough  with  that 
Sesame  m  your  heart  I  remember  his  saying,  too, 
that  m  the  inatter  of  work,  desire-Jesire  that's 
not  wrong,  of  course-was  our  first  point  of  con- 

~«r  •  I  '^  J  •"''  '!""  *^'  *'''"8  t''"  we  ur- 
gently wish  to  do  IS  the  thing  by  which  we  re- 
expr*..  the  God  who  has  first  expressed  Himself 
•n  us.  I  he  most  important  duty,  then,  is  to  find 
3*9 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

watch.  Most  of  us  don't  know  what  we  want, 
or,  if  we  do,  we  re  not  clear  enough  about  it,  and 
so  we  get  lost  m  confusion,,  like  travelers  in  a 
swamp  Of  course  he  said  it  all  much  more 
quaintly  than  I'm  doing  it;  but  that  was  the^s^ 
and  It  helped  to  put  me  into  the  line  of  thought 
in  which  I'v.--I've  found  content."  * 

«  II  "  "'  7°"  f  a'yzed  first  what  if  was  you 
really  wanted  to  do. 

tl,rA*!i"J^J  ^"^  ^  discovered  two  things:  first, 
thati  didnt  want  anything  half  so  much  as  to 
he^p-Ive  told  you  that  before-unless  it  was 
the  happinefs  of  the  people  to  whom  I  was  near- 

^A  f  II  ":?'  *u  =''.^''"  •'  ^  ''^6='"  « th«  beginning 
and  followed  the  line  of  least  resistance  I'd  gef 

t^"  '"^i^'  "'f     ^P  *°  »^"  t'-^e  I'd  begun 
m  the  middle,  and  so  could  get  neither  backward 
nor  forward,  as  I  used  to  complain  to  you." 
Having  thought  this  over,  I  said: 
You  re  fortunate  in  having  the  people   to 
whom  you  re  nearest  close  enough  to  you  for- 
tor  daily  intercourse  and  influence  " 
There  was  distinct  significance  in  her  response, 
l-erhaps  I  m  fortunate  in  never  having  turned 
my  back  on  them  as  long  as  they  were  in  need  of 
me.     Do  you  remember  how  I  used  to  want  a 
home  of  my  own?    Well,  something  kept  me  at 
kast  from  that.    Whenever  I  came'face' to  face 
^th  doing  what  I've  felt  free  to  do  at  last,  there 

Tf  R„l^'''VT*'i~!!*'j*t°'!'5'"  *''='*  •'«'«'  -"e  back. 
If  Boyd  «nd  Lulu  had  had  children  it  would  have 

330 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
been  different.    But  Lulu  didn't  want  any  till- 
tiU  lately  and  so  I  felt  that  something  was  ^JSL 
to  ease  the  gnndjng  of  the  wheels  betwe^  Sm 
KtrC^.^"-    «— thattheyvt'S 

••rnVves'"  te'"  ^  "'''••"  astonishment. 
»^u      u^    J    Didn't  any  one  tell  you?    Two 
weeks  old  tc^ay,  and  such  a  darling!    One  dl^ 
he  looks  hke  Lalu.  and  the  next  likf  Bo^S!  and 

l^lf  ^  f  *"'PPy  =>"  "'o  childre^  That's 
vrf^y  I've  felt  free  to  be  my  own  mistress,  to  this 
ment  at  least.    Things  do  work  out,  you  ^cS 

c^^to  J''"^»"«^"*h"&"  she  smiled;  "U: 
came  to  me  one  day  m  church  when  they  were 

^rd7bi'r'^'''T'  *''°"«^^''^  °f""  ''"^dX 
words   before  without   payuie  them   att«,»;™l 

I  suppose  people  worried  three  thousand  y„rs 

I^  „n     i!     ""'  ^''t'^r*  *°/^''  «y^'y.  >nd  I've 
8«  on,  oh,  so  much  better." 

She  was  so  serene  that  as  I  passed  mv  cud  for 

otherwise  I  should  have  shrunk-         """'""'* 
I  m  a  little  surprised  that  in  your  analysis  of 
the  thmgs  you  really  wanted  you've  ?oS^°^ 
the  one  most  people  crave  for  first."     ^^ 

se::^n^^=vSt*s^:tra 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

don't  demana  it  as  much  as  many  other  women: 
and  thai— It  s  hard  to  put  into  words— the  con- 
viction  has  come  to  me  that— that  whenever  I'm 
ready  for  .t  I  shall  get  it.    I'm  not  ready  for  it, 
yet.      Her  amber  eyes  rested  on  me  with  the 
utmost  truthfulness.    "It's  odd;   but  I'm  not. 
Ilie  very  fact  that  I  don't  demand  it  yet,  some 
women,  you  know,  are  liJke  that,  and  I  suppose 
some  men,  but  that  very  faa  shows  that  it's 
wiser  not  to  congest  one's  hfe  by  tackling  too 
many  things  at  a  time.    The  one  thing  I'm  grow- 
ing certam  of  is  that  it  all  depends  on  oneself  as 
to  whether  or  not  the  windows  of  heaven  are  open 
to  pour  us  out  blessings,  and  that  whatever  I 
want,  withm  reason,  I  shaU  get  in  the  long 
run.  * 

It  was  partly  this  theory  of  life,  and  partly 
a  senM  of  assurance  and  relief,  that  led  me  on 
to  talk  of  my  personal  situation.    As  Drinkwater 
had  done,  she  dismissed  my  mental  misfortunes 
as  mcidental,  mteresting  pathologically,  but  not 
morally  decisive.    As  to  my  return  to  New  York 
after  having  actually  found  my  way  home  I  felt 
obliged  to  give  her  some  explanation.    It  was 
while  I  was  doing  this  that  she  asked,  as  if 
casually: 
"Do  you  like  Colonel  Stroud?" 
"No,"  I  said,  bluntly.    "Do  you?" 
"I  can  see  that  he  has  a  sort  of  fascination 

thoughtfully,  "I  don't  trust  him." 
"Neither  do  I." 

33a 


me 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

wclier-"*''*   ""•     '^"'''   ^''"   ""'^^ 

She  hesitated  so  long  that  I  was  compelled 
to  say: 

'•Wonder,  what?" 

.',™ '''"P*  ^  ''^^  •'"*«'■  not  go  on." 
"Please  do." 

^J'l  only  wiU  on  condition  that  you  authorize 

"'Ifli^T^  y?"  to  say  anything  you  choose." 
Well,  then,  since  you  don't  trust  him,  I  won- 

influen«^°"  ^^^  ""^  '^*""'"  ***-**»  ••« 

"Oh.  but  I  don't.    The-the  events  aU  took 

otrtht^'^"^'^'*^""'^^'- -«»»-' 
th;:^inSL^ri«;:j^  ^"^-^ '-  -•'- 

do'yo^Za??"'   •'«-''"»h»«».  for  instance, 

"Oh,  lots  of  things."    She  looked  about  the 

hTJV  "?T  ""^'•'"8  ""•«='»  importance  to 
her  words.     "Love,  for  one." 

•'But  in  this  case  love  has  to  be  counted  out." 

Can  you  ever  count  out  love?    I  thought 

though  the  skies  were  to  fall." 

"It  may  be  a  permanent  factor,  and  yet  have 
to  remain  in  abeyance." 

She  laughed. 

"Nonsense!  Who  ever  heard  of  love  remain- 
ing in  abeyance?  You  might  as  well  talk  of  fire 
333 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

from  a  man  like  Colonel  Stroud."  *"" 

guilty  T""^"^'  ^'«  ^''^  y°"''»  l*^  considered 

self  .oneself  is  fo  ve^unLp^rn^!^.^"  """ 
«Jn,  do  you  think  so?" 

"I  muM  kive  you  to  jujje  of  that." 


CHAPTER  IV 

IPID  judgeof  it,  all  through  that  snrin. 
mg  more  and  more  to  JJ.-  ""  "P^*  *»">- 
was  right.    It  was  not  th?  ^    inclusion  that  I 

but  it  became  at  last  a  «..k-  *  ."""«^'"  o^^J 

to  differ  seemed'VuTonTi""  tS  '«'-"« 
when  I  remembered  with  ".„*'  j  .*.""^  ""« 
I  had  once  feared  riTatTh;.  i  '"^"^  '''"''''  that 
girl,  who hadSvfounH  h  'fr^*'.'^'  Well-poised 
with  me.  w£UexacJ?''-''"'«^*''''"'<»v«' 
was  I  have  nevw  bL  It  r*""^'  toward  me 

to  put  it  unKrSead  of*'"^'^"'?^"*^=» 
Had  circumstancS  been  m  o  f  *''*P  "*''"«•" 
e«  might  at  one  timri.  "'  ^*''°'  *hat  inter- 
thing  moretbut  from  th^:^"^'''  "^*»  «>•»- 

me^th  unt^'l^^NtsT^'lS  m^ ^  ^^"- 

goSSS^-t?5^. 

thatshewastheSieiT^"^^^^^^^^^^^ 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

in  the  Museum,  with  whom  I  could  discuss  the 
topics  nearest  to  my  heart.    With  Pelly.  Bridget, 

S™S™'  '^^  '^"^  "^"^  ^»  Smilh.  I  hid 
fn«,dly  arguments  as  to  the  Uague  of  Nations 
«d  s,™lar  matter  of  pubKc  concern;  bat  dh^ 
rardy  went  beyond  the  catchwords  of  the  rS- 

iJoaor  imith,  you  may  have  heard  of  him,  used 
to  say  that  h,s  policy  was  to  keep  this  co^S 
out  of  entanghng  alliances.  That  Cas  his  «S 
8.on,  «,tanghng  alliances.  I  always  thhUof^ 
when  I  see  foreigners."  '* 

"From  awl  I  hear."  Bridget  informed  me,  "this 
here  League  o'  Nations  they  make  so  much  talk 
about  IS  on'y  to  help  the  EngUsh  to  oppr^s  Ir!: 

Will  it  bring  down  prices?"  the  Finn  demand- 
ed, ,f  ever  I  spoke  of  it  with  him,  and  when  I 
confessed  that  I  couldn't  be  sure  that  itlSd 

f  witr  W»  ^''"''  '^*'  "^-  ^"'^  »" 

LlZ"^^  ""  'V  ''^  P'^^y'"  ^"'''«.  "unless 

th^i't— ^u*^*  "^P*  °f  ™y  conversations  on 
the  subject  It  became  a  special  pleasure  to  air  my 
^.mons  with  one  who.  while  not  always  agt^S 
with  me,  took  m  such  matters  the  same  Snd  of 
interest  as  myself.  ' 

We  were,  therefore,  in  what  is  called  the  thick 
336 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
°-  S'ei;aJ,/''fc2i;f'='"«Hing  were  heard 

"P  in  curiosity  w^^  Lvh"  """"^  *°  '«'°J^ 
Drinkwater.  From  t^  f.l^'''  '^'"^  ^  '"ding 
tumes  Miss  AveXa-S?  "*"t '"  *''«^  ~*- 

"A^o/"  she  cried    X.L™""'"*'""- 
sheepishly  before  her  L  tabir  T^^'^'^e 
We  have."  '•       ^O"  haven't?" 

If  I  ?««•"?«*  was  his. 
if  I  didn't  tie  him  bTX  ?'    u  h"?'  '^"'*'  ^« 

"But."  I  S7'thJt^;^«y^««>op." 

career?"  '     ^''"    »'»out  your  great 

of  an  adventu^  X  r*  ^°"  "'^^  '"'"'l 
doesn'thaveto^Z^-J"'"*  ".""^J-  She 
who's  an  adventur^^r^i  '»'«»  «ngle  woman 

«an  countesriJ'The^s/?''''!.'*-.  ^^^  ^^<^ 
married  twice.  fir«  ,  "''?  S""  had  been 
Har.y-JS^^,«^,S^,P'f -r-^hat  1^ 
forward  to  the  count  ri^»  ?  ''*«'"  '""^g 

is  what  you  may"^a"S?n„T'u '''""'''  H«"y 

Whe„%hey  Sd  them  f  ^''^  P'""" 
go  and  give  the  n^stoT*'  °"  =•««"'  " 
AveriIlsaid.whoIe-h«^Syr'  -  else.  Miss 
Well,  I'm  glad  I"  ' 

Thmbng  of  Vio  and  Stroud  I  asked  wfc^ 
Because  Lydia  is  saf..  fc,        ?-i       ^"y- 
"Didn't  you  Sk   he  w  '  "  T*"'.*  ''"y''"^-" 
"Not  wholly     TheSw?   "'^  "''"''y'" 

337 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

"Some  one  she  liked?" 

f..l^'  ""*?"«  •i|«  *<«"'*  Hke.    That  wu  the 
funny  part  of  .t.    But  about  four  or  five  month, 
ago  the  came  to  me  with  ao  incoherent  a  tale  that 
1  couldn  t  make  anything  out  of  it.    There  wa* 
a  man,  a  gwitleman  she  said  he  was,  who  wanted 
her  to  go  off  with  hun;  and  to  save  some  one  else 
she  began  to  thmk  she  ought  to  do  it.    I  really 
can  t  tell  you  what  it  was,  because  I  couldn't  em 
It  wraight;  only  there  was  a  wild,  foolish,  kvely 
Idea  of  seUlgacnfice  m  it,  and  now  it's  over.    Ht 
won  t  get  her;  and  if  ever  any  one  deserved  an 
«qumte  thmg  Mke  her  it's  Harry  Drinkwater. 
He  can  t  see  how  pretty  she  is,  of  course;  but  he 
gtt^e  essence  of  beauty  that  is  more  than 

We  dropped  the  terms  of  peace  and  the  League 
<rf  Nations  and  frankly  discussed  k>ve.  I  had 
already  told  her  that  for  me,  notwithstanding  all 
the  conditions,  there  was  no  woman  in  the  world 
but  Vio. 

"And  for  me,"  she  laughed,  "there's-thcre's 
ix>hengnn.  My  expression  must  have  betrayed 
my  curiosity,  because  she  went  on:  "Haven't  I 
told  you  that  it's  all  a  matter  for  ourselves 
Whether  the  blessings  of  existence  are  ours  or  not- 
and  what  blessing  b  greater  than  a  good  husband 
when  one  wants  one?  When  Elsa  was  in  need 
of  a  defender  she  went  down  on  her  knees,  a 
method  cf  expressing  her  point  of  view,  and  he 
came  right  out  of  the  clouds.  There's  always  a 
Lohengnn  for  every  woman  bom,  and  there's 
338 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

ntX;"find  each  S  ^'r'  -"«''"  - 
understanding  of  th.  "^^  '^'  °«  ^^-^ 

and  Lohengn^n.1o«:  ""'"  '~"  *''••=''  ^1., 

Sht'nr::;rdS°/Ch°^  "-'r^'- '" 
"Perfectiv      WU        '""Shing  air  of  ch.  !;-„„,.. 

IWp-.e^JXTai'^^^^''-^'^''-'''' 

K^n^^lTS'^.^td^^T^''- 
performance  of  simple  task,  hr„  "'  **"  *'"'P'^ 
the  most  satisfying'^Ld  t,  m,n"  'V""  *°  '"^ 

cal^t ^17;' 4"muci!^  ''l^  "'•^'^  -<»  J-« 
life  to  make  ^S  X  ha"^  '^"  '''^'^  "^  P"»''"<= 
and  looked  W^S  ^carX"'' ^^.'.^ 
spiritual  freedom  for  which^^  i  u  V'  ■  *P'«nd'd 
effort,  and  thdr  Zri^anlV*' ^^'"  *''«' 
achieved.  IftheCmL  'l"?'^  "»*  to  •>« 
it  was  not  dkttlv  ,  ""  ^"'^  '"°^«d  higher 
anywher^letThJ^X"";',"  ^"sailles  or 

home  of  the  ideal  dT^l^  ?*''««  America,  the 
the  heart-sti;Sg  ^:iwo  J,  tf^  -any  of 
passion,  selfishness.  dStn'^  ^'}  ^'d- 
contortion  were  the  chief  Ivr'fT""*""'  '««' 
North  of  us  CarTada   ht^^     •''^"'''"'^t'™*. 

dustrious,   war'^htii^S-^-J-^-llyin- 

vuls.on;  south  of  us  MexicoT'i'LirZe  J°u"s" 
339 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

For  m?lr^r"'^"'^'  ^"  P«y  '"  ""^  '»i«'e«- 
of  f„^!l      rT  "^  ""'^  '""»«'  =««  this  conflict 

a  nStv  S  rr^^'P'^/f -"y  own  becam" 
*  necessity,  and  to  ii  i  retired 

whatTt^  I!"'*'-    ^'^8  ""^'^  "y  *''ri"e  with 
m;m  Jj    A   harvested  from  Drinkwater.  Lydia 
Mildred  Avenll.   and  the  rest.  I  hid    myself 
there  wjth    some  half^ozen  discipl«    They 
were  Bndget's  boy,  the  Finn's  two  sons    «!d 
three  or  four  of  their  chums  whom  XJ  S 
brought  m.    Not  only  did  their  young  affecrion 
give  me  something  I  sorely  needed  in  my  hSier 
hfe^  but  I  had  the  hope  that,  building  on^C 
I  was  domg  something  for  the  futurl     gS 
men  and  women  were  beyond  my  endeav^ 
These  fresh  souls   with  their  neanfess    Tg^' 

tarshort  of  the  ideas  I  was  trying  to  internret 

^L^ilS'*^-  ^''""•^"J' the  Museum  a.  what 
we  called  our  clubhouse,  all  man's  treasures  of 
matena  creative  art  were  ours.  These  we^ere 
tafang  m  thrir  order,  beginning  with  my  ^ 
specialty  of  all  things  woven,  f^m  the  c^SS 

!ii;!j  £  xr'  '"•*  ^"'"K  on  to  kindred  and 
alhed  crafts.  Not  only  art  was  involved  in  this 
but  hjstory,  biography,  travel,  romanc^  and 
everything  else  that  adds  drama  to  hSn  ac- 
comphshmejit.  To  me.  with  the  big  .Zt  my 
•fe.  It  was  the  most  nearly  satisfying  thing  lUw 
to  reveal  to  these  eager  little  mindf  som^i^^ 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

the  wonders  with  which  the  world  was  full:  to 
them,  with  their  ugly  homes,  cramped  outlooks. 
«id  misshapen  hopes,  it  was,  I  fancy,  much  wh« 
the  marvels  of  the  next  world  will  be  to  those 
accustomed  to  the  dwarfed  conceptions  of  this 
Saturday  afternoons  were  the  days  of  our  re- 
unions, ^d  we  came  to  the  last  in  June.  It  was 
a  fatal  day  the  28th.  marking  the  fifth  anni- 
versary  of  the  tragedy  through  which  the  new 
world  began  to  dissociate  itself  forever  from  the 
cu..  As  contemporary  history  was  a  large  part 
of  our  mterest,  with  the  development  of  man's 
eJtorts  stage  by  stage,  the  occasion  naturally 
came  in  for  comment. 

On  that  particular  day  we  were  in  the  great 
room,  which,  as  far  as  I  ki,ow,  has  no  rival  in  any 
other  museum  m  the  world,  where  the  whole 
history  of  ceramic  art  is  visually  unfolded  in  order 
from  the  crude,  strong  products  of  the  Han,  Tanjt. 
and  Sung  dynasties  in  China,  up  through  the 
manifold  efflorescence  of  European  art  to  such 

n^r/nTnl  '"  *u?l°^  Bennington,  Cincin- 
nati, and  Dedham,  which  may  be  the  forerunner 
ot  a  new  departure. 

^Z"  ^^^  I™*"!  ^V''"  **«'°n  of  the  room  where 
^ere  displayed  the  first  representative  pieces 
brought  back  from  the  East  by  merchants  and 
ambassadors   and  so  voyages  of  discovery  were 

Dutch^F  ^,''r  Pt'o^'^-^o  d-  Gama  and  the 
Uutch,  Enghsh,  and  Portuguese  explorers  had 
been  discussed,  and  I  was  in  the  act  of  giving  to 
my  boys  the  story  of  the  origin  of  delfmare  as 
341 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

K"  j"'  *'*"?"'  distinguished,  dressed  i^ 
black,  and  somewhat  thickly  veiled  VorT^y  " 
June,  ,t  was  the  sort  of  apparition  to  make  a  man 
doubt  the  accuracy  of  his  senses.     Brfore  mv 

l^ardte  "•"•  "  ^"'^  '''"  ''*'*'  out  tS«hC2 
«D.       *'  **3^"8  simply:  * 

Bilty,  I  came  to  bring  you  this." 
thJm!.  ^^^  ''"  ''"•■■''•  ^°^"e  by  instinct  that 

me  ^d7^"t'''*  **"*  °^  dramatic  signrficancfto 
WL    '**'"''8  °n  overawed. 

n„»K^"  J  *"**  '"  "y  ''""d  I  »aw  at  once  to  be 
nothing  but  a  copyof  oneof  theNew  YorkpSen 
that  appear  m  the  afternoon.    That  it  comS 

s^.Td""n!:j*  '^^"^  "^  went  S« 
saying,  and  a  half-dozen  terrors  crowded  into  mv 

mmd  at  once.  Without  my  knowinlit  SZ 
h»ve  got  a  divorce;  she  might  haTe  g«  a  divS 
I  miZr''^'.  '•'"  '^•«''*  '"•^«  '°«  her  money! 

thi  S  'Jn?^""  ""P'^'^'.  "»^8  « »>"  through 
h  wl'.n  ""^""f  f^  J0"™»'  ^i^o"t  seeing 
•t.    When  my  eyes  fell  on  tlie  first  page  it  waf 

34a 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

entirely  a  white  blanlmess,  except  for  a  nngle 
word  in  enormous  letters:  ^ 

PEACE! 
My  eyes  lifted  themselves  to  hers;  fell  to  that 
one  word  agam;   lifted  themselves  to  hers  once 
more.     5)he  stood  .mpassive,  motionless,  waiting. 

S>o-so  they  ve  signed  it,"  was  aU  I  could  find 
to  stammer  out. 

nu'Z'^Ltl^:;W««»  «•    I-I  thought  you 

f  "^  """"'r  ^.""''"  t''""  tJ'i"  superficial 
fact,  I  was  too  dazed  to  go;  but  I  knew  I  must  get 

«1°"P  '"'y*-,  Turning  to  Patsy  Bridgetf  I 
sa.d.  Patsy,  could  you  take  the  other  boys  home 
and  see  them  safely  to  their  doors  ?" 

of  fifteen."  ^"'"^  '"'^"'^'  "^'^  ^^  confidence 

th'^M'  ^*f '•""'t^'ftno  one  to  take  us  home." 
the  elder  of  the  Fuin's  boys  protested.    "Me  and 

Broncho?™"''"  ^  ""  °''"  N'York,    Don't  we. 

Another  lad  spoke  up. 

"I  come  from  me  aunt's  house  in  Harlem  right 
down  to  East  Th.rty-fourth  Street  all  by  meself 
and  me  httle  sister. 

It  was  Vio  who  arranged  the  matter  to  every 
one  s  satisfaction  With  her  right  hand  on  one 
boy  s  shoulder  and  her  left  on  another's  she  said! 
m  a  tone  of  quiet  authority: 

"You  see,  this  is  the  way  it  is:  The  war  is  over 
at  last.    They  ve  just  signed  the  peace  treaty, 
and  I  ve  come  to  tell  Mr.  Harrowby.     But  now 
343 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

Left  alone  with  her,  I  was  in  too  great  a  tumul* 

How  did  you  know  where  to  find  me?"  wa 

™2J'.*"«>'' I  asked,  stupidly.  ^^ 

M.SS  Averill  told  me.    She  said  you'd  be  here 

you  a  De  domg  this  particular  subject     I  went 
through  some  of  the  other  rooms  firsi?'    ^  ''*"' 
1  didn  t  know  you  knew  her." 

Al  ceMountney  said,  and  you  said."  * 

What  did  I  say?" 

344 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

;;What  one?"  ^""^"'^  ^"  ^'^  one. 
"The  one  you  spoke  of  th^  *i,   i 

To  help  out  how?" 

vZ2\  ^'"yv^°n't  niatc  yourself  dull.    You 
W  that  nothing  can  be  done  unless  I.  ;,  you 
or  one  of  us.  should  take  the  first  step."         ^    ' 
I  asked  with  a  casual  intonation: 
Mow  s  Stroud  ? 

the^  vei^but'^^h?''*  '''"*"/'?  '^'  *''-'»««  of 
tnejeil.  but  she  answered  in  the  tone  I  had 

since  ttt' pte    '  '"^""'^  '^^^'^  ''™  -<=-- 
"She's  married." 

;'0h,is8he?    I  hope  it's  to  some  one^" 
It  s  to  some  one  as  true-blue  as  she." 
She  «tn«sblue.  Billy.    I  see  that  now.    She 
^he  must  be  to  have  wanted  to  do  what  she 
ci!      ■  ;  ■  *  ^oman  hke  me,  who—" 
Mie  took  a  step  or  two  toward  one  of  the  cases 
where  she  pretended  to  examine  the  liSer  of  a 
great  Moorish  plaque. 

it  Zt''to"t,!r?  '•?'!,''''"«'"  I  "■''•  finding 
ourse^es  ",1  f  l''"'^  ^^T"  "^J""  ^h'*"  of 
hear^  hi  ''""''•  ""?  ^^  'P'"^'  »n«l  good 

345 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

I  knew  more  or  Ics  already  f/'b^r^^H-g* 
to  the  same  conclusions  :  r  myself  0^7^'"^ 
quite  reached  them  aL^  lu    "'^  ^  '"*'"  ^ 

back,  and  evervth^™.  J  '  *''*"  y°"  "^ame 

I'J  kJ-  •  '^*^'"|'«  ^3s  «>  strange  .  after 
Id  been  ni  mourning  for  you  La'  ■ 

those  prints  as  a  n,-J  •  i  •  •  •  »"«>  g>ven 
wirf,-?^  I  d!f^jr""°"=''  '"  y»"'  name!  I 
».k  detected  somethmg     ke  a  sob— "I 

-^^you  could  make  some  alfowanc«  fo^^e! 

rnj^tr  ""  '  ''"''  °""  ^-  -' ''«  I  «ood 

feeZ|;Sat:!!e;"''"'"^'^'  ^'°^    ^'^  -  '-"d 
She  advanced  toward  me  by  a  pace 
Then  w,ll  you  do  this  for  me?    If  f  „n  fi  a 

inough  my  heart  was  goine  wild  I  lm«- 
ey«  must  have  been  cold  HfaW         ^*"'  "^ 

reason'^^Fir  rm  T  • ''V'  ^'°'  '''^  «  «lo"»>'e 

^„0h.  but  I  thought  she  was.    Everybody  says 
"Who's  everybody?" 
••Well-well,  Alice  Mountney  " 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 

let  iny  .aying  so  convince  you.  Ill  be  quite 
frank  with  you  and  say  that  I  thought  so  once 
myself  I  U  even  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  at  one 
time,  if  everythuig  had  been  different,  it  might 
have  happened.  But-but  everything  was  as 
.t  was  and  s<^  Well,  the  long  and  sWt  of  it  is 
that  there  s  nothing  in  it,  and  I  must  beg  you  to 
take  that  as  decisive." 

"Then — then,  who  is  it?" 

"No  one.  I've  found  my  work,  a  very  hum- 
ble^work,  as  you've  just  seen." 

"A  very  fine  and  useful  work." 

spilLly"?''    "'    ""^    ^'"    "*"-"«    "^»PPy- 
She  moved  along  the  line  of  cases,  as  if  care- 
lessly exammmg  the  contents. 
"What's  that?"  she  asked,  coming  to  a  pause. 
Ubhged  to  go  close  to  her,  I  was  careful  not 
to  touch  so  much  as  the  surface  of  her  clothes. 

«M  IV"^  'n"P  l"^  """■■'  Ludwigsburg,  an 
old  Rhme  valley  factory  now  extinct.  They 
liked  those  little  fancy  scenes." 

doesn't  hr  ***  ***  '  ''°'"^"  pleading  with  a  man, 

"It  looks  like  that.  It  probably  means  noth- 
ing beyond  a  bit  of  decoration." 

"And  he  seems  so  implacable,  while  she's  down 
on  her  knees,  poor  thing!"  She  looked  round  at 
me.       Are  you  busy  here  still?" 

I'Oh,  there  are  always  things  to  do.     Why '" 
I  thought  you  might  walk  back  to— to  the 
hotel  with  me." 

347 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
"r^  ***  ^"y'  '"'*  ''•"  afraid—" 

^^  my  should  y,.a  want  to  be  friends  with 

cri'ed^'sL^  T"''  '"'Pu  "•  '■°'  ""^  thing."  she 
cnea,       and   for   another—"     T..™;.,-. 

warily  she  began  to  n,ove  towIrdTh'e  S 

Of  course  .f  you  don't  want  to.  I  can't  uiT^t 

and  so  must  learn  to  get  along  by  myself  "^    ' 

^^  Wthmg  .n  the  last  phrfse^p^jj^l  me  to 

''U  there  anything  specially  wrong?" 
«o;    only   everything   specially  wronir      Tf 

iz'^irz''"' " ''-  '"'^'  ^^  ^i -" 

Stroud?"  ^°"  ""  ""=  "°^'    I»  «  about-about 

I   'h?ve"Ve'h   ^'")y°»  forget  about  that? 
i    nave.    He  s   dropped   out   of  my   existence 
That  was  all  a  mistake,  like  the  other  things." 
What  other  things?"  * 

big'wor?-V'EACE"T-"    ^^^  P"'"**''  *<>  ^« 

to  wWch  1  hL  1         "u  ""«  ^'  "*  '■«•"  >  chair 
P  ^""ch  1  had  thrown  the  newspaper      "  I.onlr  „ 

that.     Doesn't  it  make  all  the  last  fi";  yeaT^eem 

unreal,  hke  a  nightmare  after  you've  got  up^ 

348 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 


way  I    feel   now  .  .  .  about 


Well,  that',   the 
•  .  .  about—" 

"About  me?" 

"Of  course.  I  never  should  have  thought  it 
at  all.  only  that  Wolf  and  Dick  Stroud.  »d  even 
SeTe'S-J^*'"*''^^-    ^""''ea'rt !.:;::; 

"  Do  you  mean  th-i—  ?" 

the  questtl""  "^^'""^  "^'^^^  ^"^  "^  **»  «n»h 

"ril*  ^i"'""*  "  ''''^  P'^i^'y-  Vio." 
1 II  tell  you  as  plainly  as  you  like,  Billy,  but 
-but  not  now.    I'm  too  worried."  ^ 

But  what  about.'    Is  it—?" 

"lA^'  T^y*'''"8'"  "he  burst  out,  desperately 

Shabby  the  house  was,  and  run  down?"    The 

«raint'*'""  A^^H^^VT'r  ""7'  =""•  ^'^out  re! 
r„,f  J^^T''?^  ^"'"  Averill  has  a  little 
^°y.'r,^,  P«rf«:t  darlmg,  and  our  little  Bobby-" 
.  1 11  go  back  with  you  to  the  hotel."  I  said 
quietly,  'only,  don't-don't  cry  here,  wiih  p^k 
conung  m  and  out."  pwpie 

. Jt\*'""'  ''f  fy**'  *^"^  <'o^  *>"  veil,  and 
took  her  sunshade  from  a  comer.  Picking  up 
the  paper  she  had  brought.  I  folded  it  and  slijp^d 
It  .mo  my  pocket.  I  began  to  wonder  if  it  St 
not  prove  a  souvenir.  ""Knt 

On  the  way  to  the  main  exit  we  passed  throueh 
a  corridor  hned  with  cases  of  old  silver.  ^ 

Do  you  think  your  boys  would  like  a  dav 
with  those  things?"  she  asked,  with  the  slight 
349 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
convulsion  of  her  throat  that  a  chiU  hat  after 

"I'm  sure  they  would." 

"I  «»uld— I  could  take  them,  some  day,  when 
you  d,dn  t  want  to  go,  if  you'd  let  me.    It's  one 

.^f  "^  *•*"**  '  ^°^  something  about." 
I  m  afraid  it  would  bore  you." 

She  paused  for  just  an  instant.  "Bore  me? 
Billy,  nothmg  will  ever  bore  me  again  so  lone  as 
you— you  let  me—"  * 

As  she  could  say  no  more  we  resumed  our  walk 

Out  m  the  open  a  boy  rushed  up  to  us,  a  Slavic 
"tfil*"  ^^^  '"'*'*  questioning  eyes. 

"Peace,  mister!  Peace,  missl  Buy  one!  Great 
historic  'casion!" 

They  were  like  doves,  all  up  and  down  the  ave- 
nue, white,  fluttering,  bearing  the  one  blessed, 
ntiagical  word.  They  were  in  motor-cars,  car- 
nages, and  on  the  tops  of  omnibuses— all  white 
all  fluttenng,  all  blessed,  and  all  magical.  Up 
and  down  and  everywhere  the  cry  burst  from 
hundreds  of  raucous  little  throats: 
''Peace!    Peace!    PEACE!" 

•  ll^T*  'i'^  coming  out  into  a  new  world,  isn't 
It'    1  said. 

"It  is  a  new  world,  for  me.  Do  you  remem- 
ber saying  that  day  ,vhen  you  first  came  home 
that  the  new  world  made  the  war?  Now  it's 
made  something  else,  in  which  it  seems  to  me 
there  11  be  just  as  much  struggle  called  for.  only 
with  a  difference.  Then  the  hard  things  were 
done  to  break  us  down;  now  they  may  be  just 
3SO 


THE  THREAD  OF  FLAME 
M  hard,  only  they'll  be  to  build  u,  up     The 

two  motiyes?    I  ve  never  wanted  to  build  ud 
anything  m  my  life;  but  now  I  feel  as  if-^"    ^ 
Once  more  we  walked  silently  among  the  doves 
hst«,.ng  to  that  throaty.  lu«y  cry  that  wa.  E 

"Peacel    Peace!    PEACEI" 

We  had  come  to  that  avenue  in  the  park  sacred 
to  httle  boys  and  girls,  when  she  said: 

Hes  a  darling.  Lulu  AveriU's  baby:    and 
th^-^u.te  understand  each  other-now  " 

Ihis  second  reference  prompted  me  to  rive 
her  a  fong  s.dewise  look,  but  she  did  not  rwur?" 
rerhaps—    I  ventured. 

"Oh,  Billy!" 

It  was  barely  a  sigh,  but  for  the  minute  it  was 
enough  for  me.  as  she  pressed  forward,  wTth 
veiled  profile  set.  like  one  gazing  into  the  Crl 


THE   END 


